There it is. Alannah eased up to the curb and gawked.
“That is some house,” she muttered. The house was old, beautiful, and immaculately preserved. The grounds were impressive.
“No wonder she said she didn’t need our money,” Alannah admitted, “not that we have any!” To herself she added, Well, Kari, so far so good. This part of your story checks out. We’ll know more soon, though, I’ll bet.
She turned the car toward the law offices of Brunell & Brunell.
At 3:30 precisely, Alannah walked up the steps to the imposing front entrance of Brunell & Brunell. She carried her handbag and the briefcase and introduced herself to the receptionist. “Detective Alannah Carmichael to see Mr. Brunell.”
“Yes, ma’am. I will ring Miss Dawes.”
The click of high heels upon marble announced the approach of Miss Dawes. The attractive, well-groomed woman looked Alannah up and down before issuing a crisp, “This way, please, Detective.”
They traversed a large, open room where lawyers and their assistants were hard at work. On the other side Miss Dawes turned down a long hall. After passing several offices, Miss Dawes opened the door into a conference room. Four men waited for Alannah.
“Detective Carmichael? I am C. Beauregard Brunell. May I introduce Jeffers Brunell and Clive Brunell? We three are the senior partners of Brunell & Brunell. And may I introduce Mr. Owen Washington, our lead investigator?”
The three men nodded to her and she nodded back. Three senior partners? And a lead investigator? All showing up on short notice? Kari, I am impressed, Alannah thought.
C. Beauregard Brunell gestured to a seat at the commanding conference table. Alannah placed her briefcase on the table and seated herself.
“How may we help you today, Detective?” C. Beauregard Brunell, while civil and pleasant, was on his guard. His drooping blue eyes gave nothing away.
Alannah, taking the measure of the men in the room, for the most part approved of what she saw. Breaking through their need to protect Kari and her privacy will be my biggest task, she acknowledged to herself.
“Gentlemen, just yesterday morning I met Ms. Kari Hillyer in Denver, Colorado. She gave me to understand that this firm represents her?”
“That is correct, Detective,” C. Beauregard Brunell stated. He said nothing more.
“Thank you,” Alannah responded evenly. “Kari is a lovely woman and I already consider her something of a friend.”
She went straight to the point. “I understand your firm’s legal obligation to protect Kari and her privacy, so what I propose is that I tell you a story. A true story. You will find this account . . . interesting, to say the least. Even, perhaps, incredible. Afterwards, you may wish to contribute to the, er, storyline.”
The four men glanced at each other, curious but also cautious.
“Very well, Detective. We are listening.” Apparently, C. Beauregard Brunell would be the spokesman for the group.
Alannah popped open her briefcase and removed a file folder and a bound scrapbook. She closed the briefcase and placed it on the floor next to her chair. She laid the file folder open in front of her, smoothing it so it lay flat.
She made eye contact with each of the men before saying, “On April 12, 1911, a heinous crime was committed in the city of Denver.”
“April 12—1911?” The firm’s dark-skinned investigator was surprised into speaking.
“Yes, that’s right. 1911. May I proceed?”
They nodded, but C. Beauregard and the investigator, Owen Washington, exchanged concerned glances.
“On April 12, 1911, the infant son of a Mr. and Mrs. Grant Michaels was abducted just outside a Denver park. Two men, personal security guards, were shot and killed during the commission of this crime. One woman was shot but survived.”
Alannah opened the scrapbook and held it towards the men, moving it from right to left so the four of them could take turns reading various headlines from the Denver Post.
“I can tell you that the baby’s kidnapper was subsequently identified, but not apprehended. Sadly, the child was never recovered.
“The kidnapped child was born on January 19, 1911, and was, at the time of the kidnapping, nearly three months old. The Pinkerton Agency, in cooperation with local police, assigned its most experienced agent to the investigation, a man whose specialty was missing persons.
“The investigation uncovered and verified several facts. The first fact: As I mentioned, the kidnapper was identified. He was a man known to the child’s family, one Dean Morgan, born Regis St. John in Seattle, Washington, also known as Shelby Franklin and other aliases. This man was an embezzler and con artist of no small degree, wanted in several states.
“The reasons behind the kidnapping, however, were personal and vindictive. The story is quite involved. I will not go into those details at present for the sake of time.”
The room was quiet as the partners and Washington absorbed Alannah’s words.
“The second fact: Evidence indicated that Dean Morgan hired a woman to be wet nurse to this infant. It is believed that they traveled together, just the three of them, by automobile when fleeing the State of Colorado.
“The third fact: This information will bear directly on why I am here. During the kidnapping, it was believed that a small book was accidentally taken with the child. It was in the child’s buggy and may have been folded into the baby’s blanket and picked up with him when he was taken.”
Alannah hesitated for effect. “That book was the journal of Rose Thoresen.”
Jeffers and Clive did not respond to Alannah’s last sentence, but Clover and Owen gasped at the same instant.
“Mr. Brunell, I see you are familiar with this book,” Alannah said quietly, looking at the attorney on her right. “Kari Hillyer showed the journal to me, knowing nothing of my involvement in this case.”
Clover was staring at the table, his mouth working, his thoughts in chaos. Jeffers and Clive glanced nervously between Clover and Owen, perceiving that the two knew something they did not.
“Clover?” Jeffers asked timidly. “Do you know anything about what Miss Carmichael is saying?”
Clover held up his hand to his brother, shaking his head just once, fighting to gather his thoughts and wits. “Detective Carmichael, if you please, just what is your involvement in this, er, case?”
“That is a good question, Mr. Brunell, and I am happy to address it. You see, Mrs. Michaels, the mother of the child, was Joy Thoresen Michaels, daughter of Rose Thoresen. Rose Thoresen was the child’s grandmother.”
She waited as Owen and Clover processed the information. Jeffers and Clive still watched, out of the loop but observing the drama with keen interest.
Alannah continued. “Sadly, only a few months after the abduction, the child’s father, Mr. Grant Michaels, passed away. Four years later, in 1915, Mrs. Michaels remarried. She married Edmund O’Dell, the same Pinkerton agent charged with finding the baby.
“I would like to mention here that Mr. O’Dell and Mr. Michaels were such close friends prior to Mr. Michaels’ death that Mr. and Mrs. Michaels named their baby after Mr. O’Dell. The child’s name was Edmund Thoresen Michaels.”
“Detective Carmichael?” The interruption came from Owen Washington. “I believe Mr. Brunell requires a moment. Clover? Are you all right?”
Clover was looking more ill than Owen had ever seen him. Clover turned unseeing eyes toward Owen. “I must—we must hear the rest, Owen. We must.”
Owen agreed with reluctance, but hurried to pour him a glass of water and bring it to him. “If you say so, Clover, but drink something first.” He took the seat next to Clover and watched him with anxious eyes.
When Clover had sipped on the water, he looked at Alannah. “Please continue, Detective.”
Alannah glanced into her notebook. “This is the most concise account of the crime I can render; a more substantial recounting would take hours. But there is a bit more I believe you should hear.”
She cleared her throat. “You asked to know my involvement? I will tell you. Edmund and Joy O’Dell went on to have three sons, Matthew, Jacob, and Luke. They are in their seventies now. Edmund and Joy O’Dell’s fourth child and only daughter, Roseanne O’Dell, has since passed away. However, when she was a young woman she married Sean Carmichael, my father. Roseanne O’Dell is my mother.”
Alannah stated, matter-of-factly, “I believe Kari Hillyer to be the daughter of Edmund Thoresen Michaels, known to you as Michael Granger. That makes her my cousin, my half-cousin.
“Our four families—the Thoresens, the O’Dells, the Carmichaels, and our friends, the Liángs—have been searching for Edmund Michaels now for eighty years. My grandfather, Edmund O’Dell, went to his grave not having fulfilled his promise to Grant Michaels to find his namesake, baby Edmund Michaels. He died, however, proclaiming that God would prevail and that Edmund would one day be found. It is one of the reasons I became a police officer.”
She flipped opened the scrapbook again. “This book is filled with newspaper clippings documenting the abduction and the investigation, including the evidence implicating Dean Morgan as the kidnapper.”
Alannah looked all around the table. Jeffers and Clive were trying to keep up, but she could tell that the investigator, Owen Washington, and the other Mr. Brunell, the one Washington called “Clover,” were tracking with her perfectly.
She turned in the scrapbook to the page she wanted. “In 1909 Dean Morgan was arrested for quite a number of criminal offenses, in particular the crime we now call human trafficking. His crimes were found out and he was arrested—largely due to the efforts of Joy Thoresen Michaels to expose him.
“Morgan awaited trial for his crimes in the Denver county jail, where these mug shots were taken, until he managed to escape in November of 1909.”
She turned to Clover. “Mr. Brunell, I understand that you knew Michael Granger personally in your youth. I also understand that you reached out to locate Kari because Michael Granger’s purported uncle, Peter Granger, was this firm’s client and Kari stood to inherit in her father’s place?”
“Yes,” Clover whispered.
Alannah spun the scrapbook so he could see it. She tapped Dean Morgan’s fading mug shots. “Is this the man you knew as Peter Granger?”
Clover turned his eyes to the page where Alannah’s finger rested and stared at the grainy photographs. He did not need to study them long. “Yes. This is the man I knew as Peter Granger.”
“Clover?” It was Clive’s voice that broke the tension in the room. “Clover, I don’t understand what you are saying about Mr. Peter. Do you know what is going on?”
“Yes.” Clover rubbed his long fingers over his face. “Yes, I believe I do know what is going on. I—that is, Miss Kari—was exploring in Mr. Peter’s garage and found a journal in the attic. It was written by a Rose Thoresen”
“It’s pronounced Tor-eh-sen,” Alannah corrected, not unkindly. “Kari also pronounced it with a ‘th’ instead of a hard ‘t’ when she told us about finding the journal.”
“I see.” Clover took a deep breath. “The journal does explain your coming here to see us.”
“She found a journal. How does that get us here?” Clive insisted, now a bit peeved.
Clover answered mechanically. “Clive, you know that Miss Kari went on a road trip? She planned this trip because she was somewhat taken by the woman whose journal she read. She wanted to go to Denver where Rose Thoresen—pardon me, Tor-eh-sen—lived and do some research. She hoped to find out more about her life, if she could.”
“Yes. She found the property records and address of the house Rose Thoresen had lived in—and that is how she found us. All of us, the whole of our four families, know that Rose’s journal was taken at the same time Edmund was abducted. It is part of our family lore, you see.
“However, we never knew what became of it. It could easily have been tossed out—and that was the most likely scenario. But some family members held onto the hope that Rose’s journal went with Edmund and might, someday, lead him back to us.”
She smiled a little. “When Kari showed up out of the blue two days ago with Rose’s journal in hand, well, you cannot imagine the consternation and speculation it raised!
“And, I must say, once we saw her? Two elder members of the Liáng family who knew Joy in their youth say that Kari has very much the look of her grandmother, especially her unusual blue eyes. Also, those who knew baby Edmund in the three months before he was taken attested to and passed down to their children and grandchildren the knowledge that he, too, carried the unusual color of his mother’s eyes. Thoresen eyes.”
“Yes,” Clover whispered. “Michael Granger had those blue eyes. He was my best mate in our teens and early twenties. I knew Kari was his daughter the second I saw her.”
“I understand you lost touch with ‘Michael’ many years ago?”
Clover tipped his chin. “Yes. He and his uncle had a falling-out over Michael’s faith in Christ.”
“His faith in Christ?” Alannah trembled. O Lord! Are you not too wonderful?
“Oh, yes. Michael became a follower of Christ not long after his mother—I mean after Alicia, the woman he thought to be his mother—passed away.”
Clover sipped his water. “But Peter Granger? He despised Christianity. He forbade Michael from following Jesus. Michael, to his credit, would not be turned from his faith. The issue of Michael’s faith drove a wedge between them, and Michael eventually left home to pursue the call of God on his life.”
Alannah was overcome and had to momentarily cover her face with her hands. O Father! Just as Joy and O’Dell prayed and believed right up to their deaths, you kept your hand on Edmund! You drew him to yourself! You called him to you! O Lord. Your ways are past finding out! She rubbed her eyes and tried to bring her attention back to what was being said.
Clover finished, his voice soft and rough, “We never heard from Michael again. It took Mr. Washington here, and his efforts, to finally locate him just last year—or rather locate the notice of his death in an Albuquerque paper. From there, he was, at last, able to trace Miss Kari.”
Clover frowned. “One thing I don’t really understand, Detective. You say that Peter Granger—or Morgan or whatever his real name is—was a criminal? A con man and embezzler?”
“Yes.”
“And yet the man we knew was something of an intellectual and a financial genius. I cannot fathom why he would resort to criminal activities when he was so obviously talented at making his fortune honestly.”
Alannah thought about it for a moment. “If I recall correctly, Dean Morgan grew up quite poor and, at an early age, fell in with criminal elements, in particular, a Seattle family—the Chens—known for its activities in gambling, prostitution, and drugs. I suppose, once set in a wrong direction, Morgan just continued in that way.”
Clover sighed. “Mr. Peter’s past does, I suppose, explain his guarded manner all those years.”
Washington inclined his head toward Alannah but asked Clover, “Shall I tell her?”
“Yes. Of course. This changes everything.”
Clover turned to his brother and cousin. “Jeffers and Clive . . . I kept you in the dark regarding what Owen is about to disclose, I’m sorry to say.”
Alannah again rubbed her eyes and looked expectantly at Washington.
He smiled at her. “You see the hand of God in all this, don’t you, Detective Carmichael?”
Alannah shook her head slowly and started to grin back. “I am . . . overcome by the God of grace, Mr. Washington.”
Owen nodded. “We love Miss Kari, Detective. She is a very special woman in many ways, but . . . she grew up entirely without family and has felt alone from the time her parents died when she was six until even now. Being without family is her deepest sorrow. Does all that you are telling us mean that she will now have family? Real family?”
Alannah’s laugh was a little tongue-in-cheek. “F
amily is both a blessing and a curse at times, don’t you agree, Mr. Washington? Like the old saying goes, ‘you can choose your friends but not your family.’ What I can tell you—what I can promise you—is that Kari will soon have more family than she can likely handle.”
A knowing chuckle went around the room, and then Alannah sighed and brought them back to task. “But you were going to tell me something, Mr. Washington?”
“Ah. Right. Just this: When I came on staff at Brunell & Brunell, I took over the search for Michael Granger or his offspring. In the process of acquainting myself with the case, I reexamined all of Peter Granger’s personal papers stored in Brunell & Brunell’s files.
“Among them I found birth certificates for Peter, Alicia, and Michael Granger and a death certificate for Peter’s brother, Alicia’s supposed husband and Michael’s father. I called the county clerk for each certificate, hoping to discover additional family information in adjacent records.
“However, in all instances, there were no records of their births or any record of Alicia’s husband’s death in those county files. It turns out that the birth certificates and death certificate were all forgeries, and quite good ones.”
“I see.” And Alannah did see. “We never found a trace of Dean Morgan once he left Denver, but I understood from what my grandfather told me that Morgan was exceptionally adept at changing identities.”
She pondered what she’d been told for several minutes. “How I wish Grandpa O’Dell could have lived to see this day.”
“Detective?” Clover had recovered and he was flipping through the scrapbook, reading newspaper accounts and clipping after clipping.
“Yes?”
“Does Kari know? Have you told her?”
“No. We are gathering the four families outside RiverBend where Rose and her husband lived and Joy was born. We will tell her just before then—now that you have confirmed Kari’s identity for us.”
“When?” Clover asked the question. “When will you tell her?”
“Next Friday before the family converges on RiverBend the following morning. And I will be returning to Denver tomorrow—that is, if there is nothing left uncovered at this point?”
Lost Are Found (A Prairie Heritage, Book 6) Page 23