This Little Baby

by Joyce Sullivan

  Paulina finished her soft drink. She just hoped Robbins didn’t get suspicious of Newcombe and start digging into the activities of his law firm before Gil had a chance to get into the files. Time was of the essence. It was bad enough the earliest appointment Gil could get was Tuesday.

  Setting the report aside, Paulina went into her bedroom to change into more comfortable clothes: jeans and a long-sleeved cotton shirt. It was only six o’clock. The rest of the evening stretched out before her. Maybe she’d go for a walk in the Market and have dinner out rather than nuking frozen lasagna. A traitorous voice in her head pointed out that if she hadn’t been afraid, she could be having dinner with Gil right now. Maybe laughing and having a good time and anticipating his bringing her home.

  Her body tingled at the thought, her breasts aching for the touch of Gil’s hands. Paulina closed her eyes as an image of Gil standing naked in her bedroom infiltrated her mind.

  The phone rang, startling her. She ran for it, grateful for a distraction of any kind. But even as she answered it, her traitorous heart was hoping it was Gil calling.

  The sooner this case was over, the better.

  “Paulina, this is Andrea. I’m so glad you’re home. I went in-line skating this afternoon and dropped by the post-office box. I think we got a letter on the Bryan Watson case. The return address is from Frankston, Victoria, Australia.”

  “What? That’s great.” Paulina’s pulse quickened with hope. With the assistance of a friend’s fancy computer, she’d concocted a realistic letter about a high-school class reunion, which she’d sent to the parents of Margaret Russell. Margaret had accompanied Oliver Watson when he fled Canada with Bryan twelve years ago. Bryan’s mother, Brenda, had learned from a neighbor of her former in-laws that Oliver had married Margaret. “Open it,” Paulina urged.

  She heard the sound of paper tearing. Andrea’s voice shook with excitement. “It says:”

  Dear Sue,

  I was delighted to receive news of the Brookdale High School class of ‘72 reunion. You might remember me as Margaret Russell way back then, but I go by the name of Peg Oliver here.

  As you can tell by the postmark I’m living in Australia. I work in a tasting room at a vineyard and my husband operates a surf shop. We have four children: two boys and two girls, our youngest being seven now. Unfortunately, I’m unable to attend the October Halloween reunion (such a shame as we don’t celebrate Halloween here), but I would like to receive a copy of the roundup newsletter you mentioned would be available to those who couldn’t be present.

  My thoughts will be with you and the festivities on All Hallows’ Eve.

  Sincerely, Margaret Russell

  Paulina sank to the pine floor in her bedroom and rested her forehead on her knees as the shock set in. After all these years, Brenda was going to be reunited with her son.

  “That’s all there is to the letter,” Andrea said. “Do you want me to read it again?”

  Paulina was trembling too hard to answer.

  “Paulina? Are you still there?”

  “Yes,” she said weakly, wiping at the tears trickling off her chin. She took a deep, gulping breath. “Look, are you going to be home for a while? I’ll call Brenda and tell her I’m coming over. I’d like to give her the letter in person. You’re welcome to tag along.” She glanced down, noticing the receiver was quivering from the trembling of her hand. “In fact, I think I’m going to need you to drive.”

  Andrea laughed. “Sure, boss. Stay there, I’ll be over in twenty minutes. Brenda’s going to be thrilled.”

  Yes. And Paulina hoped with all her heart that Bryan would be thrilled, too.

  PAULINA WAS STILL feeling shaky Monday morning. Brenda had had a lot to absorb last night. Now she had to decide how and when she was going to make contact with Bryan and whether or not she wanted her custody order enforced. Bryan might never forgive her if she had his father arrested for kidnapping.

  Before Paulina got down to the day’s work, she took Bryan’s picture from his file and pinned it on her Found wall. She stood there, smiling at it for a moment. Some joys were worth savoring.

  “You looked pleased with yourself.”

  She whirled around at the sound of Gil’s voice. The sight of him made her heart leap like a skittish lamb noticing a wolf at the edge of a pasture. He wore navy cotton slacks and a designer knit shirt with a golf theme in olivegolds and blue. The blue brought out the indigo of his eyes. Paulina turned away from the shadowed longing and desire she saw reflected there; it too nearly matched her own. Was he thinking about last night, too?

  “I am very pleased with myself,” she said. “This is my motivation board—my found kids.” She straightened Bryan’s baby photo as she talked. “I have a ritual of putting up their pictures when a case is solved. This one’s Bryan—I’ve been working on his case for three years and we finally had a breakthrough last night.” Paulina shot Gil a brief glance. “He’s fourteen years old now.”

  “Jeez,” Gil said. Paulina saw the dark stab of worry register in his expression.

  She put her hands on her hips, trying to keep things breezy between them—and away from the fanciful imaginings of what could have happened between them had she given in to temptation and slept with him again. “I fully expect to put Mikey’s picture up here someday,” she reminded him.

  “I know.”

  “So, let’s go over what you plan to do in Newcombe’s firm tomorrow.” Gil’s best salesman had contacted Newcombe’s partner Bullhauser and sold him on a special rate for an Internet home page to advertise the firm’s services.

  Gil sat in her father’s chair. “Newcombe’s got a spare computer that they are willing to use as a server. Our standard procedure when we set up a home page is to ask for information about the firm such as the letterhead logo, advertising brochures and copies of informative articles they’ve created that would be interesting for browsers to read. Rob picked up some materials late Friday and I put together an initial design. Setting up the server will take a couple of hours, so they won’t notice if I run a program I wrote to search the files. As soon as I get a minute alone, I’ll pull up Cindy’s file….”

  Paulina took notes as he outlined his plan, interrupting him from time to time when he used an unfamiliar term of computerese.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll turn you into a chiphead before you know it,” Gil said, with a grin. Paulina didn’t doubt it—he had a clear way of explaining things that made it less intimidating to understand.

  “Andrea will thank you,” she replied dryly, unable to resist the urge to smile back at him. “She’s been hinting since she started working for me that the computer in the front office is a dinosaur.”

  “She’s right. What you really need is a—”

  “Stop being a salesman. Now what key words were you planning to use in this search utility you were talking about? Maybe we should make a list.”

  They worked on stratagems right through lunch. Paulina wanted to be certain there was no way Newcombe could figure out someone had been rooting through his system. She also wanted Gil to be aware that Newcombe could have the knowledge and the means to pass these adoptions off as being legal without the adopting parents knowing anything illegal was transpiring. Andrea brought in roast beef sandwiches, coleslaw and coffee at noon. At two, Paulina glanced at her watch and realized she’d wanted to make a few calls about Newcombe and Bullhauser.

  She phoned the law offices of Mayheu, O’Connor and Dingwald, hoping Ken Mayheu wasn’t out to a late lunch or in court. Newcombe had said he’d played golf with Ken.

  “Paulina.” Ken Mayheu’s boisterous voice carried over the phone line. “This is a pleasure. You know, I was just talking about you to someone last week.”

  “Really?” Paulina wondered if Newcombe had checked up on her after she’d left his office. “It wouldn’t happen to have been a call from Newcombe and Bullhauser, was it?”

  “Indeed, Vern’s paralegal gave me the third degree. She’s prac
tically ready for the courtroom, that one. Not to worry, though, I gave your agency a glowing reference. Lydia probably thought we were sleeping together.”

  Paulina laughed. Ken had his own style.

  “What can I do for you, Paulina? I’ve got a deposition in twenty minutes.”

  “Actually, I was hoping you could tell me a bit about Vern Newcombe. I understand you played golf with him recently. You close?”

  “That was a tournament for the children’s hospital. We’ve negotiated a few divorce settlements. He’s a decent lawyer, well respected within the legal community. He’s made a name for himself handling private adoptions, which is interesting because there aren’t as many babies being put up for adoption these days. Vern told me most of the adoptions are open and that makes all the difference. The young mothers don’t feel so bad if they know they won’t completely lose touch with their children. But tell me, why the interest? He hasn’t run off with his kids or anything?”

  “Oh, no.” Paulina didn’t even contemplate giving Ken a line. Some players you played straight with—always. “He represented someone in a case I’m involved in. I just wanted to know what kind of person he is, on the off chance it parlays into some work being thrown my way.”

  Ken harrumphed. “He’s not a member of the shark pool, so don’t worry about wading in the water.”

  Paulina laughed, though her heart wasn’t in it. “Thank you, that’s what I wanted to hear. I knew I could count on your discretion.”

  “Any time.”

  She hung up and repeated what she’d learned to Gil. Then she proceeded to call several contacts she had in other law firms. Receptionists were the custodians of the grapevine and knew all the juiciest tidbits. Forty-five minutes later, Paulina finished her last call and rubbed her bleary eyes. Her late-night meeting with Brenda, combined with the restless images of Gil disturbing her sleep, was catching up with her. It didn’t help having him within arm’s length all day. She blinked and told herself that if she had the strength to say no last night, then she’d have the strength to continue saying no until Gil was completely out of her life. Why did that thought make her feel depressed rather than relieved?

  “Well, that’s it,” she said tightly. “Newcombe has a sterling reputation. His wife is a former model. He’s got three kids and a golden retriever, and he plays squash. Oh, and his favorite chanty is the Children’s Hospital of Eastern Ontario.”

  Gil flexed his shoulders. Paulina could hear the tension crackling through his muscles. “Not exactly the profile of a baby racketeer,” he said grimly.

  “On the contrary, Gil. His sterling reputation could be a perfect foil.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Gil was pumped, prepared to give the performance of a lifetime for Mikey. He took the pregame jitters rampaging through his gut as he stepped into the law offices of Newcombe and Bullhauser as being a good sign. He always performed well under pressure. He’d already lost the police tail that had been on him when he left the house this morning—or at least he hoped he had. Paulina had told him he was probably being followed, and she was right.

  For a moment, as he gave the receptionist his name, he wondered if Paulina felt like this when she went into one of those story routines she did. It occurred to him that it took an enormous strength of will and confidence to carry off what she did.

  But then, he’d already concluded she was special. More special than any woman he’d ever met. The thought of her lying naked and pliant in his arms…and wanting him, made his chest swell.

  He shoved the notion away. If anything could crack his concentration, it was Paulina.

  “I’m Richard Bullhauser. How do you do?”

  “Fine, sir. I’m Gilbert Boyer, president of Working Solutions, Inc.” Bullhauser gave no sign of recognition with his name. “Your appointment was originally with one of my consultants—Rob Smalley,” Gil continued. “But his wife is experiencing complications with her pregnancy, so I’m filling in for him. I hope it’s not an inconvenience.”

  “Not at all.”

  Gil shook the lawyer’s proffered hand and sized him up. His hand felt soft and fleshy. Middle age and a desk job were affecting the man hard, making inroads on his hairline and padding his waist. But Gil liked the frankness he saw in Bullhauser’s dark brown eyes. This man made the money decisions.

  “I’ll be setting up your web server and home pages this morning,” Gil explained. “It won’t be accessible from the Net until the phone company installs your Internet connection, but you’ll be able to use it internally until then. Now, why don’t you tell me about your current system?”

  Gil listened intently as the lawyer showed him around the office. There were five networked computers: one in Newcombe’s office, one in Bullhauser’s office, one at the receptionist’s desk, one at the paralegal’s workstation and the spare in an empty cubicle beside the paralegal’s workstation. Gil’s glance into Newcombe’s office was far too brief. Bullhauser told him his partner was in court this morning.

  The tour ended at the empty cubicle where the spare computer sat on a desk. “How long will the installation take?” the lawyer asked. “I’ll be on a conference call for part of the morning, so I won’t be available to answer questions.”

  “Approximately three hours,” Gil replied. “It’s fairly straightforward, but things never go as smoothly as one would like.”

  “Well, Lydia’s at the courthouse filing papers, but she should be back soon. If you have a question or a problem and my office door is closed, see her.”

  “Okay. Are your files encrypted?” Gil asked.

  Bullhauser chuckled. “We’re not that technologically advanced.”

  “What is the password to your database?”

  “Mediation. We’ll be changing it after you’re done.”

  Gil set his briefcase on the desk and sat down. He booted up the computer and double clicked the hard disk icon.

  Bullhauser took a moment to explain the main folders used by the firm, then patted Gil on the shoulder and wished him luck.

  Once he was certain he was alone, Gil opened his briefcase and inserted a diskette into the computer. Then he opened Newcombe’s folder. The files were listed in a hyphenated code. He chose “Find…” from the File menu and typed in Cindy’s name. Her file appeared on screen and he realized the code consisted of the first three letters of the client’s last name, a file number and the year. He wondered why the law firm didn’t make use of the computer’s capability for long file names and list the client’s name in full. Was the code for privacy?

  Aware of the passage of time, Gil scanned the contents of Cindy’s file quickly. Disbelief slammed a numbing blow to his heart when he read that Cindy had originally approached Newcombe about putting Mikey up for adoption, then changed her mind when she learned there was no money in it. Newcombe noted Cindy seemed confused and highly unstable. He felt any decision she made about putting her baby up for adoption would be made under duress. He advised her to seek counseling to help her deal with Ted’s death and being a single parent.

  Gil frowned. Perspiration clung to his body in a clammy film. This wasn’t what he’d expected to find.

  His frown deepened as he scanned the notes for Cindy’s second appointment; they concerned Ted’s estate. Ted had died without a will. At her last appointment, she’d asked Newcombe whether it was possible her brother-in-law could get custody of her baby.

  Gil copied the file onto his diskette. Were he and Paulina on the wrong track with Newcombe? Or was this file for appearances and Newcombe had other hidden files detailing his illegal adoptions? Gil performed a file content search using Mikey’s name. Cindy’s file was the only one that appeared in the search list.

  Had nothing more come up because Newcombe took the precaution of not referring to the children who were put up for adoption by name? Gil remembered Paulina had said that Mikey might be referred to in the files as a male born April 19.

  Trying not to be deterred, Gil in
itiated the program he’d written the night before to search for and copy files that contained selected key word occurrences. He’d designed it to run in the background and copy the output onto the hard disk while he set up the server. Then he immersed himself in the complexities of installing the software. The law firm was going to receive exactly what it had paid for.

  Two hours later, Gil swore softly under his breath as he tried to copy the output file onto his diskette. The file was too big. His search criteria had been too general and he was picking up too much data. And the system he was working on didn’t have the tools he needed to adjust the program. He’d have to do a manual search.

  This time he did a search for “adoption.” He whistled at the number of files in the resultant list. Were these all couples who’d come to Newcombe to arrange private adoptions? Gil saved a copy of the list on his diskette. Then he rose and checked to make sure the paralegal wasn’t in her workstation. As far as he knew, she hadn’t returned from the courthouse. Gil risked printing off a hard copy on the printer in her station so he could use it as a cross-referencing tool to narrow his search.

  A key word search for “infant male” produced another list of forty or so files on the screen. Gil ticked them off against the master “adoptions” list. Next he tried Mikey’s birthdate: April 19. A dozen file names appeared, Cindy’s among them. But none of the remaining eleven file names was on the master list.

  Undaunted, Gil examined the file names he’d ticked off on the master list. At first glance, he thought he could safely eliminate any of the files with years other than the current year, then he questioned his logic. The year in the file number probably referred to when the client originally approached the firm. Some of these couples could have been on a waiting list for years. It could take a long time to examine each of these files separately. More time than he had.

  What he needed was an index. If Newcombe didn’t mention the child’s name in the individual adoption files maybe he kept a separate reference list or an index indicating which child had been placed with which parents. Gil picked up a pencil and ran his gaze over the file names printed on the master adoption list, circling the names that differed from the hyphenated code. There was nothing obviously labeled Index. But what was this file labeled CNSFA? Gil opened the file. It was a list. He nearly laughed at the irony of the title: Clients Not Suited For Adoption. Paulina had thought Newcombe’s sterling reputation was a cover for illegal activities. Was this Newcombe’s attempt at being deliberately clever?