Child With No Name

by Franklin Horton

  39

  Glade Spring, Virginia

  In the back of a crowded white van, an electronic surveillance tech from the FBI worked with Raylene Kidd to wire her for sound and video. As each device was added to her body, the tech checked his gear to make sure he was picking up the signal from her transmitters. The van was marked with the name of a fake fiber-optic contractor. It would allow them to park on the side of the road and stay within range of Raylene’s transmitters. Going with the tiniest, most-concealable gear resulted in a corresponding loss of transmission power.

  Whitt, Ty, and Cliff paced around outside, giving Baxter, Raylene, and the tech more room to work in the crowded confines of the van. As a group, they’d already briefed Raylene on what to say and what not to say. With her law enforcement background she had a good understanding of the boundaries she needed to stay within. They all had a good feeling about this.

  The plan was that Raylene would go to the clinic for her usual appointment. The rest of the group would monitor her progress from the van parked along the road. The goal was to get something that would allow them to obtain a search warrant for the clinic. If they could combine Raylene’s testimony and video evidence with the testimony of other patients they could build a solid case. Surely Raylene wasn’t the only patient who suspected they’d tried to buy her kids.

  When the electronics were secured and functional, the back door of the van popped open and they helped Raylene climb out.

  “You ready?” Cliff said.

  Raylene nodded and smiled. “I got this.”

  Cliff patted her on the arm. “I know you do, Raylene. We’re all counting on you.”

  “And what do you do if there’s an emergency?” Cliff asked. “If you need to pull the plug on the operation?”

  “I say that I’m going to be late for my hair appointment,” Raylene recited.

  “That’s right,” Whitt said. “Odds are that nothing is going to happen in there but it’s always good to have a backup plan.”

  “I’m not nervous,” Raylene said. “I’m fine. Let’s do this.”

  “You heard the lady,” Baxter said. “Let’s roll.”

  Raylene headed off toward her car and climbed in. Everyone else piled into the van. With a two-man surveillance team, the van would have been tolerable. With five it was a little too crowded. Ty elected to drive, not excited about being crammed into the confines of the rear cargo compartment. The rest of the team was elbow-to-elbow in metal folding chairs.

  They drove approximately three miles to the clinic. Raylene pulled into the clinic parking lot and sat there for a moment, watching out her window as the white van pulled onto the gravel shoulder down the road from the clinic. She climbed out of her vehicle and limped toward the ramp. She leaned heavily on a newly-purchased cane, her leg aching from the strain of climbing in and out of the surveillance van.

  She entered the lobby, the familiar smell of antiseptic and air freshener assaulting her nose. She checked in with the receptionist and took a seat in one of the chairs with its institutional-grade, urine-resistant vinyl upholstery. She sat there for about five minutes, scrolling social media on her phone until a nurse came for her.

  “Ms. Kidd?”

  Raylene struggled to her feet while the nurse held the door wide.

  “I guess you know the routine,” the nurse said cheerily.

  “You tell me how fat I am, then make me pee in a cup.”

  “I weigh you,” the nurse corrected, pointing Raylene to the scale. “Then I collect a sample.”

  “Same thing,” Raylene said, standing on the scale, and averting her eyes from the display.

  “You want to know your weight?”

  “No.”

  “You really should monitor it,” the nurse suggested. "For your health."

  “One thing at a time.”

  The nurse handed over a plastic cup. “I’ll need that sample.”

  Raylene had a moment of panic as she considered this. She hadn’t told the surveillance tech that she was observed while providing a urine sample. Hopefully there was nothing showing. Hopefully she wouldn’t dislodge one of the cameras and flush it down the toilet. She didn’t even want to think about the fact they’d all be sitting in the van listening to her pee. She’d have to push that thought out of her mind.

  She managed to provide the sample without losing any of the expensive cameras, then handed it over to the nurse. While the nurse labeled it, Raylene got herself together and washed her hands. They walked across the hall and the nurse deposited her in an exam room.

  “The doctor will be with you in a moment.”

  Raylene flashed her a smile and sat there patiently. Sometimes the doctor was prompt and other times there could be a short wait. She kept checking her watch and noted that it was about seven minutes until the doctor rushed in, open laptop in his hands. He placed it on the counter, dropped onto a rolling stool, and extended a hand to her.

  “Ms. Kidd, how are we doing today?”

  Raylene shrugged and launched into her current status. She didn’t contrive a fake report just because she knew the conversation was being monitored. She spoke as honestly and as accurately as she had on all her previous appointments. She told the doctor the suboxone was helping but that treatment continued to be a struggle.

  “What about the original injury that led to your addiction? How are you managing that?”

  “I have good days and bad days,” Raylene admitted. “Overall, I’m more able to live with the pain than the addiction.”

  The doctor shrugged. “That’s a pragmatic attitude. I think you’ll be successful in your recovery.”

  Raylene hoped he was right. She watched the doctor bang away on the keyboard and knew the visit was winding down. In a moment he’d ask if there was anything else. She was going to beat him to the punch this time.

  “Is the counselor available today?”

  The doctor’s pecking fingers froze mid-stroke. “The counselor?”

  Raylene nodded. “The counselor I spoke with last time. Karen.”

  The doctor’s head bobbed as he processed this. She wasn’t sure what his hesitation was about. The counselor was either in or she wasn’t.

  “I think she’s available,” he finally said. “I’ll send her in.” The doctor got up from his chair, waved, and stepped out of the room.

  Raylene frowned as he closed the door. Why did doctors have to be so weird? She couldn’t recall ever meeting one that wasn’t somehow awkward or strange. She sat there for a moment, tapping her foot and looking around. There was a knock on the door and it swung open.

  The counselor popped in, closing the door behind her, and leaning back against the counter, her arms crossed over her chest. “The doctor said you asked to see me.”

  Raylene had imagined how she’d do this. She tried to put herself in the shoes of some of the women she’d arrested over the years, desperate and broken. She looked at the floor as if she were ashamed and unable to meet the counselor’s eyes. She was playing the role of a woman about to do the unimaginable. “I’ve been thinking about what you said.”

  Karen cocked her head to the side as if she couldn’t recall what Raylene might be referring to. “You’re going to have to refresh my memory.”

  “I’m doing okay with my treatment but it’s been hard. My husband left me because of the drugs. I’m on disability and I barely have enough money to get by. You mentioned there were options for women who were having trouble dealing with the stress of children. I...I wanted to hear more about that.”

  Karen nodded in understanding. “Our adoption program?”

  “Yeah, I guess so,” Raylene said. “Tell me again how that works.”

  “Well, as I said last time, we have people out there who want to adopt but they’re interested in avoiding the entanglements of the public adoption system. They don’t want all the hassle of the home visits and the legal proceedings. They’re willing to pay extra to circumvent those things.”

>   Raylene looked up. “So I’d get some money?”

  “You get most of the money, Raylene. The clinic collects a small fee for arranging the transaction.”

  “I wouldn’t get in trouble, would I?”

  “Not as long as you don’t tell anyone,” Karen stated firmly. “We don’t document these relationships. This is done entirely off the books. That’s what our clients are paying for. Utmost discretion and secrecy. They won’t talk and they expect that you won’t either.”

  “Will I get to meet them?” Raylene asked, her voice nearly a whimper. “To see if they’ll be good parents?”

  Karen shook her head sadly. “I’m sorry but it doesn’t work that way. There’s no interaction between you and the future parents. It’s best for all parties that I handle the exchange.”

  “Do I bring them here?”

  “Absolutely not,” Karen said. “If we come to an agreement, you and I will meet in public somewhere. You’ll hand over your children like we’re two divorced parents swapping out for the weekend. I’ll personally deliver them to their new home and make sure everything goes smoothly.”

  “You’ll do that for me?” Raylene asked, a hint of desperation in her voice. “You’ll make sure they’re in good hands?”

  Karen smiled like the devil bargaining for a soul. “I promise, Raylene.”

  Feeling better about things now, Raylene perked up. “And what kind of money are you talking about?”

  “Refresh my memory. How many kids and what ages?”

  “My children are between four and nine. Two boys and a girl.”

  “I tell you what Raylene, because I like you, I think I’ll be able to get you eight thousand dollars for the three. Eight thousand dollars will go a long way toward putting your substance use disorder behind you. It’s enough to start a new life, free of any burdens.”

  Raylene was silent. To Karen, she’d appear to be a woman thinking it over. What Raylene was actually thinking was how nice it would be to kill Karen. How dare that woman price her children like they were a used car. She took a moment to allow her rage to subside.

  “I need to do it,” Raylene said, her voice cracking. “I need to do it soon though. If I put it off, the guilt is going to eat at me and I won’t be able to go through with it. How soon can we do this?”

  Karen’s face screwed up in thought and she scratched her head. “Would tomorrow evening be soon enough? We have a waiting list but it will take me that long to put something together.”

  “Good enough. And I’ll get the money then?”

  “I’ll have eight thousand cash on me. I'll hand it over when I pick up your kids.”

  “Okay then. How will I know where to meet you?”

  “I’ll call you in the morning, Raylene. You can pack a suitcase for each of them. That’s all they’ll need.”

  Raylene got up and headed to the door, tears streaming down her face. Karen opened the door and let her go without a word. Clients leaving the clinic in tears was nothing new. Raylene wouldn’t even get a second look from the receptionist while she booked her next appointment.

  For Raylene, the tears weren’t fake. Just the thought of handing her children over like that was enough to invoke real tears. She couldn’t imagine packing their lives into a single suitcase and handing them over to a stranger to never see them again. Surely some patients had, however, and that thought brought even more tears.

  40

  The Clinic

  Glade Spring, Virginia

  Karen was in her office preparing to make a call when there was a tap on the door. She set the phone down on the desk. “Come in.”

  The door swung open and Dr. Jacoby walked in, closing the door behind him. He collapsed into a chair against the wall and leaned forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped before him. “Karen, I’m not okay with what’s going on here.”

  Karen sighed, cranked her window open, and lit a cigarette. Smoking in the building was against several different regulations but she figured that was the least of her crimes. She also knew it irritated the doctor and she wanted the psychological edge. She wanted his discomfort. She propped her feet up and exhaled out the window. “To what are you referring, doctor?”

  “Whatever is going on with the children. These adoptions you all set up. There’s a reason there are regulations in place for this. There’s a reason that the social services system makes home visits to determine if someone is a suitable parent before they place a child in the home. Someone needs to be responsible for that happening. You can’t just hand children out like they’re puppies. There need to be safeguards.”

  Karen narrowed her eyes at Dr. Jacoby, staring through her cloud of smoke. “The adoptions aren't part of your role here. How do you know we don’t have such safeguards in place?”

  The doctor nervously unclasped his hands and made an exasperated gesture. “I can only assume you don’t have procedures in place because nothing is written down here. I've never seen anything like it. Everything is secretive and under the table. I'm the doctor here, my license is at risk, and I'm not even allowed to ask questions. Hell, I don't even know who's in charge!”

  Karen shook her head, dismissing his concerns. “There’s nothing shady going on here, doctor.”

  “No?” he asked. “That pregnant woman who was here the other day, the one who asked to see you? I went to add something to my notes on her, something I’d forgotten, and couldn’t find the intake notes in the computer. There was even a record on my schedule to show that I saw her. I can’t prove it but I think someone deleted her record.”

  “That’s nonsense. Who could do that? There are all kinds of protections around medical records now. It’s nearly impossible to simply delete something.”

  “It should be impossible,” Dr. Jacoby agreed. “But I don’t know what back doors you people might have into the system.”

  Karen’s eyes widened. “You people? You work here, doctor. You’re one of the people.”

  Dr. Jacoby waved his hand. “No, no. I’m not part of whatever is going on here. I’m a physician treating patients and that’s all. I'm trying to help people recover from their substance use disorders. That's my only role.”

  Karen dropped her feet off her desk and ground her cigarette out in a potted plant, leaving the butt there with a dozen others. The doctor frowned in disapproval.

  “You know, it’s a good thing we’re having this talk, Dr. Jacoby. The timing is fortuitous. Maybe it is time for you to learn more about the business as a whole. I need someone to check a patient. To make a house call. I was going to arrange for someone else to do it, but I think I’m going to send you.”

  Dr. Jacoby sat back, arms on the armrest. “I don’t make house calls. You know we have strict protocols under which we can operate. If I don’t adhere to those protocols I can lose my license.”

  Karen smiled. “Dr. Jacoby, we own you and we own your license. We paid off your student loans. We arranged to bring that whole extended family of yours to the United States. We found you a nice home and even made the down payment. Are you sure you’re ready to tell me no?”

  Dr. Jacoby stared at the floor, his face tense, conflicted. “What's this all about? What patient?”

  “A pregnant woman.”

  The doctor raised an eyebrow at Karen. "The pregnant woman I was just asking about?"

  Her smile widened. “Yes, coincidentally it’s the exact same woman you were just talking about. You’ll get a chance to see her again. She’s had no prenatal care and I need someone to check her out, to make sure the baby is doing okay.”

  “Absolutely not!” Dr. Jacoby spat. “That’s not my field.”

  “Oh and I almost forgot. She’s in North Carolina. If we let the nurse see the rest of your patients for the day, you can probably get there in time to see her tonight. It’s past Winston-Salem, so it’s a bit of a drive.”

  The doctor’s face had gone from an expression of shock to one of someone hearing something so absurd it went be
yond the scope of belief. “That won’t be happening. I’m not certain who you think you are, but I don’t work for you, Karen. You’ll have to find someone else to do your dirty work, whatever it is that you’re doing.”

  Karen gave a resolute sigh and casually picked up her phone. She punched the contact to ring Harrison while the doctor stared at her expectantly. When Harrison answered, she spoke with the calm of a woman pushed to do something she’d hoped not to have to do. “This is Karen. I apologize for bothering you but Dr. Jacoby is no longer interested in going with the program. He’s got a lot of questions about the services we provide to children and families. I need him to go check on our patient in North Carolina and he’s refusing. Do you have a moment to explain the urgency of the situation to him?”

  “Put him on,” Harrison said.

  Karen extended her phone to Dr. Jacoby and he reluctantly took it, raising the phone to his ear.

  “This is Dr. Jacoby,” he said. “I just want to say—“

  “You shut the fuck up and listen to me,” Harrison spat. “You’ve made a deal with the devil and you’re not walking away from it.”

  "Who is this?" Dr. Jacoby asked.

  "This is the devil. This is the man who made everything happen for you and I can unmake it just as easily."

  “I’m not comfortable with whatever is going on here.”

  “I’ll be blunt so there’s no misunderstanding here. You may not know me, but I know you have three daughters and a wife at home. If you ever question our practices again, if you ever refuse a request, I have a cartel friend in Honduras who pays extra for matched sets. I bet he’s never owned a mother and three daughters before, but I’m certain he’d pay well for the privilege. Do you get what I’m saying here?”

  Dr. Jacoby sat in stunned silence, the magnitude of what he’d become involved in settling over him. This had to be the man he actually worked for, the shadowy figure behind the scenes. For the promise of being unsaddled from his student debts, for being able to fast-forward through years of financial struggle, Dr. Jacoby had unknowingly climbed into bed with some very bad people. He should have known better, but they played to his weaknesses. They played him on all levels and now they had him a position where he could not refuse them.