by Judi Lind
“I thought we might stop for lunch first, since we skipped dinner last night and I only had an apple for breakfast. I’ve had enough Mexican to last a good long while. I need some good old American food. How about a nice bacon cheeseburger?”
Bile rose in Valerie’s throat and she dashed for the bathroom. Five minutes later she came out, her face still damp from the cool water she’d splashed on it. She was supposed to be past morning sickness, according to all the journals, but apparently this baby didn’t know that.
“Are you all right?” Gil asked, his voice husky with concern.
This was the opening she’d been waiting for. The perfect time to tell Gil about the baby. And she had to tell him. Soon. But still she hesitated. No, she wouldn’t tell him yet, not until she could fully trust him. If he was going to pull another disappearing act, then she’d rather he’d never be involved at all.
With a wan smile, she reached for her purse. “Guess I OD’d on those guacamole tacos last night. I’m fine now. Really,” she insisted, seeing his furrowed brow. “Let’s go.”
He reached for her elbow as if he wasn’t fully reassured by her explanation. “Okay, but you’ve been through a lot the past few days. If you start feeling ill, just give me the high sign and we’ll come right back here so you can rest. Got it?”
“Got it.”
She waited while he unlocked the passenger door of the rented Blazer and helped her up the high step. When he had taken his place behind the wheel and was strapping on his seat belt, she asked, “When was the Lundquist baby taken, do you know?”
“Yeah, about seven, seven-thirty last night. Why?”
She felt as if a three-ton weight had been lifted from her shoulders. “Because that proves beyond a doubt that I’m not involved.”
“What do you mean?”
“Some detective you are, Branton. I was right here in this motel with you when the kidnapping took place. So you don’t have to worry any more about my possible involvement.”
“Mmm,” he responded noncommittally as he backed the Blazer out of the parking space.
“What? You don’t sound convinced.”
“Oh, I am,” he said, looking both ways before entering the stream of traffic. “That’s what I told my boss— that the timing of this latest disappearance proved your innocence.”
She sensed he’d only related part of the conversation. The part he was telling her might be the truth, but it wasn’t all of it. “Do I have to pull this out of you word by word? And your boss said what?”
Stopping for a red light, Gil turned to her and grimaced. “My boss said it seemed pretty convenient to him that you managed to get me all by yourself at the exact moment the kidnapping took place. He suggested you might have engineered getting me out of the way and conveniently setting up an alibi for yourself, while your confederates pulled off the actual abduction.”
“Humph. Well, your boss is an idiot.”
“That’s what I told him,” Gil murmured as they passed Camelback Mountain and headed for Tempe, from where the Lundquist infant had vanished.
Having moved out of the family home in her quest for independence, Karen Lundquist moved into the Casa del Prado apartments a few weeks before little Brent’s birth. Typical of many apartment complexes in the Phoenix valley, Casa del Prado was a low-rise, mock-Spanish building stuccoed to look like adobe.
The deep-set doors were painted a vivid teal blue and fake viga beams protruded over the arched entrance to the apartments. Set in a two-story horseshoe configuration, and ringed with lacy paloverde trees, Casa del Prado was a “starter” complex. The Southwestern adornments were only for show; inside were just the standard boxy rooms. The only amenities one might expect were clean carpeting and an air conditioner that actually worked.
Apartment six was a few steps away from a tired-looking swimming pool where a handful of youngsters frolicked, oblivious to the near hundred-degree temperature.
Taking the lead, Valerie knocked softly.
As if she’d been standing just inside awaiting their arrival, a tearful Karen Lundquist opened the door. “Oh, Dr. Murphy!” Throwing her arms around Valerie’s neck, Karen vented her grief in a torrent of wrenching sobs.
Leading the heartbroken girl back inside, Valerie held her in her arms until the tears subsided. Gil, who’d remained in the background, nudged Valerie’s shoulder and passed her a handful of tissues he’d apparently appropriated from the bathroom.
“Come on, honey.” Valerie handed Karen the tissues and guided her to the sofa. “Can I get you something to drink? Some water?”
“N-no. No thanks.” Karen hiccupped. “Every time I try to eat or drink, I start throwing up.”
“You can’t let yourself get dehydrated and sick.”
“Why not?” Karen wailed. “What have I got to live for? Somebody took my baby!”
A fresh deluge of tears followed her pronouncement.
Gil fetched a glass of water from the tiny kitchen, and while Valerie tried to convince the distraught young woman to drink, he brought a cool damp washcloth from the bathroom. A good man to have around in a crisis, Valerie reflected, while she waited for Karen to regain her composure.
“I—I’m sorry,” Karen said at last. “I know it doesn’t do any good to keep on crying but...but I can’t seem to stop.”
Valerie nestled close to her on the stiff sofa and wiped her face with the cool cloth. “That’s all right, honey. Sometimes you just have to cry it out.”
“Who would do such a thing, Dr. Murphy?”
“I don’t know, Karen. Can you tell us what happened?”
Karen raised her head. “I told you. They took Brent!”
Glancing at Gil helplessly, Valerie signaled for him to take over. Her interrogation skills, she’d quickly learned, were nil. All she wanted to do was hold Karen until her pain receded.
Hunkering down in front of the stricken young woman, Gil tried to get details out of her. “Karen, I’m Special Agent Branton, from the FBI. I’m trying to find out who might have abducted your baby. I know it’s hard, but if you can pull yourself together long enough to answer my questions, it might help us find Brent.”
Karen dabbed at her wide blue eyes with the soggy tissue. “I—I’ll try, but I don’t know anything. I...I just went into the bedroom and he was gone!”
Gil rose and pulled a straight-backed kitchen chair into the already crowded living room. Sitting directly across from Karen, he patted her shoulder. “I know it’s hard, but you have to stay strong. For Brent.”
Miraculously Karen’s shoulders straightened and she pushed a tangled sheaf of pale hair out of her eyes. “I can be strong for Brent. What do you want to know?”
“That’s my girl.” Gil smiled encouragingly. “Now, when was the last time you saw Brent?”
“Just before seven. I’d fed him earlier and put him in his crib and was waiting for Mrs. Horton, and I just wanted to make sure he was dry. In case she checked.”
“Mrs. Horton?”
“Yes, she’s my caseworker. She was coming over last night to make sure Brent and I were doing all right. It...it was our first night alone. My mom stayed with us most of the day.” Her voice caught again and Valerie feared there’d be a new wave of tears.
“That’s fine,” Gil said. “Just take it easy. Have some more water.”
Karen obediently lifted the glass and swallowed. A moment later she nodded, ready to go on.
“So Brent was asleep in his crib at seven. In the bedroom?” He pointed to the half-open door beside the bathroom.
“Yes. Brent’s folks, the baby’s grandparents, brought over a brand-new crib yesterday and some pretty blankets.”
“What time did Mrs. Horton arrive?” Gil asked in an obvious attempt to keep her focused.
“Six minutes after seven.”
Valerie and Gil exchanged looks. “Six minutes after? How can you be so certain?” Valerie asked.
Karen pointed to a clock radio on top of th
e television set. “Mrs. Horton was due at seven and I kept watching the clock. I was afraid she’d be real late and Brent would wake up and start crying and...and she’d think I didn’t know what I was doing, and—”
“But she showed up while he was still asleep, is that right?” Once more Gil effectively stemmed the flow of her digression.
“Yes. At six minutes after. We talked for a while and she looked at the kitchen, checked out the food and high chair, although he’s way too little to use it yet. She said I was a real good housekeeper and would be a great mother,” Karen ended proudly.
“When did you first discover Brent was missing?” he asked.
Karen’s blue eyes pooled again. “It was almost eight o’clock and he still hadn’t cried or anything. Mrs. Horton was ready to leave, but I wanted her to see him. See how clean I was keeping him. We went into the bedroom and...and he was gone!”
Valerie glanced around the minuscule space. “And you hadn’t heard him cry since you put him down?”
“No.” Karen gestured to the wall behind the sofa with her thumb. “The people next door play their TV real loud at night. I was afraid it would wake Brent, but Mrs. Horton said babies adapt to almost anything. She said...she said it wouldn’t bother him.”
Placing a calming hand on her shoulder, Gil continued, “So at eight o’clock you and Mrs. Horton went into the bedroom and found Brent’s crib empty, is that right?”
“Y-yes.”
“Is there a back door into the apartment?”
“Yes, but it was still locked. Th-the police said the kidnappers pried open the screen in the bedroom window. It was real hot last night and the air conditioner wasn’t working in the bedroom, so I left the window unlocked and...oh, it’s all my fault!”
Valerie gathered the young woman into her arms again. “No, sweetie, it isn’t your fault. It’s the fault of the people who took Brent. Now you’ve got to stop worrying and get some rest. Brent’s going to need his mother to be alert and in good health when we find him.”
Karen blew her nose and looked up hopefully. “Do you really think you’ll be able to find him?”
“Sure—” Valerie started to reassure her when Gil smoothly interrupted.
“We’ll give it our best shot, Karen. And you’ve been a real big help.”
“I have?”
“Of course. Because you were so attentive you’ve narrowed down the actual time to a very fine margin. Once we have definite suspects, we know exactly what time frame they’ll have to account for.”
“I have helped, haven’t I?”
“You betcha.” He rose to his feet.
“Is there someone who can come stay with you?” Valerie asked, also rising.
“My folks will be over later. My mom wanted me to come home but...but I can’t leave. What if the police find Brent and I’m not home?”
Gil handed her a card with his office and pager numbers. “I can be reached twenty-four hours a day at one of these numbers. If you think of anything else, any detail that might seem insignificant to you, just give me a call.”
“Okay.” She took the card with trembling fingers. “And thank you.” Karen smiled at Valerie to include her in her expression of gratitude. “Thank you both.”
As they walked to the Blazer, they mulled over Karen’s story. Gil started the engine immediately to get the air conditioner going to combat the blistering heat. After pulling out of the small complex, he said, “What did you think? About her story.”
“I think Karen was telling the truth, but...but something bothered me.”
“A little too pat?”
“What do you mean?” She gave him a sharp glance. Could the man read her mind? How could the kidnappers know that Karen would be occupied during that hour?
“Think about it. That was one small apartment. I don’t care how loud the television was next door, if you were sitting on that couch you could hear a cricket burp in the bedroom.”
She considered his logic. “The walls are thin. But if the baby didn’t cry and she was intent on her conversation with the social worker, I can see how they could take Brent without Karen hearing anything.”
“Exactly.”
“So the question is...”
“How did the kidnappers know Mrs. Horton would be there to distract the mother between seven and eight?”
Valerie shook her head, confused. “It’s too farfetched to think they tapped her phone line, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” He glanced both ways before turning right on the red light. “Tapping a phone is done a whole lot more frequently in movies than in real life. Even a government phone tap is a rare event, except in big cases like a drug cartel or organized crime. The average Joe Criminal certainly doesn’t have the technical skills to pull off a phone tap.”
“One thing occurs to me,” Valerie said. “Most of these cases involved mothers who are under the guidance of social services. Maybe we’ve been looking in the wrong place. Maybe the criminal isn’t an employee of the hospital, but someone who has access to the social-services computer.”
“That’s a thought,” he agreed. “You know where the social-services office is located?”
She looked out the window to get her bearings. “I don’t know if it’s the main office or not, but there’s a branch just a few blocks from here. Why?”
“Nobody’s going to answer any questions on the phone. I thought we might drop by and see exactly what their procedures are. Find out how easy it would be to tap into their information system. Unless you have any other ideas?”
“Fresh out.”
After only a couple of wrong turns, they were at the Valley Office of Social Services. The receptionist was dumbfounded by their request and quickly referred them to Marsha Ainslee, the manager of the branch.
After carefully inspecting their credentials, Ainslee, a plump motherly-looking woman with eyes that darted back and forth between them, glanced at her watch. “I can only give you fifteen minutes, I’m afraid. Another interminable staff meeting. If you work for the government,” she said to Gil, “you know how many of those I attend every week.”
She led the way into her office, a sterile cubicle painted blinding white, the only adornments a few black-framed photographs and certificates. Taking a seat behind a clunky wooden desk, she gestured to a pair of chairs opposite. “Now, what can I do for you folks?”
Gil filled her in on the stolen-baby ring operating in the area.
“Gracious! You know, I’ve heard rumors of that kind of thing happening in Mexico and South America. Stealing tiny babies to sell to folks here in the States. But I never imagined such a thing could happen here. What about the legalities, birth certificates and such?”
“In this computerized age,” Gil explained, “a person with fair skills can hack into almost any system. Alter whatever data they need to change and, presto!, official documents are instantly available.”
Ainslee gave her own desktop monitor a suspicious glance. “It’s all a muddle to me, I’m afraid. My computer skills are taxed just filling out the reports somebody somewhere is always wanting. But what does all this have to do with our department?”
“Maybe nothing,” he responded. “But when we were talking with the latest victim of this scam and discovered her social worker had been visiting at the actual time of the abduction, we wondered if someone hadn’t managed to hack into social-services files.”
Marsha Ainslee went on the defensive. “Applicants for positions in our department are rigorously screened.”
“So are hospital employees,” Valerie said. “But someone is accessing confidential records, either at the hospital or in your department. One unscrupulous person doesn’t mean the entire institution should be faulted.”
Nodding as if somewhat appeased, the social worker swiveled in her chair, donned a pair of gold-rimmed glasses and clicked a few keys on her computer. “If we have a bad apple smelling up our organization, I want him or her out of here as much as you do.
Now, what was the mother’s name?”
“Karen Lundquist.” Valerie spelled the last name.
Marsha’s fingers tapped the keyboard with astonishing speed. “When did you say that baby was born?”
“Two days ago.”
The social worker frowned and typed in a new sequence of commands. “That’s too soon, unless... No, Karen Lundquist wasn’t receiving any benefits prior to the baby’s birth. Her medical expenses were covered by her father’s insurance and she was living at home. She’ll start receiving aid for the infant of course, but she isn’t even scheduled for her first appointment until next week.”
Gil leaned forward. “I don’t understand what you mean. A social worker, a Mrs. Horton, visited the Lundquist home last night. Was she doing some sort of preliminary site investigation?”
“Who? Horton?” Marsha shook her head. Her mousebrown hair, curled into chubby little sausage rolls, jiggled.
“That’s right,” Gil replied. “I don’t have a first name, but Karen Lundquist said the welfare worker’s name was Mrs. Horton.”
“I thought I knew every field investigator in the Valley,” Marsha said thoughtfully. “Let me make a phone call.”
Gil and Valerie sat back in their seats while she made not one, but three phone calls to different governmental entities. When she finally hung up, Marsha Ainslee took off her glasses, carefully folded them and set them on her desk blotter. “Something appears to be wrong, Agent Branton. As I feared, no one with that surname is employed by the social-services system in Maricopa County.”
Gil jumped up and leaned forward, his knuckles grinding on the desktop as he carefully watched Ainslee’s face. “What! Are you certain?”
“Absolutely. I called in every favor that’s due to me in Human Resources. There is no one, male or female, named Horton working in any capacity in social services in this county.”
Gil turned slowly and made eye contact with Valerie. Marsha Ainslee’s disturbing news exploded into discordant possibilities. Either Karen Lundquist was lying or someone had posed as a welfare worker to gain entrance to her home.