by T. Doyle
Chapter Twenty-Nine
I followed Joe to the cabin. He’d picked up take out from En-Thai-Sing, the Thai restaurant and karaoke bar. The food was great, the karaoke not so much–especially when Mabel McClure was in her “Sonny and Cher” mood.
Ray came in through the back door with a six pack of beer, a bottle of red wine, and a roll of butcher paper. Over pad thai and beef pan eng I shared everything I’d learned.
“What’s next, then?” Joe asked Ray.
“So far, even if they can prove Peter rented the cars, it’s circumstantial.” Ray stuffed a shrimp in his mouth and swallowed. I honestly don’t think he chewed. “But, since Oscar’s pictures are time, date, and location stamped it’s good evidence. It’d be great if Peter met with the parents.” He scratched his beard. “But he’d be an idiot to be seen. I’m guessing they had a go-between. Maybe Mr. TapOut SUV.”
“That car is local. I swear I’ve seen it around,” I said.
“Babe, that’s the most common SUV out there. And I wouldn’t be surprised if dozens of them had TapOut stickers on them.” Joe picked at the label of his beer. “If we could prove Peter was in town the night Tyler died…”
Ray pushed his plate to the side. “Didn’t you say that Tyler’s divorce attorney went with him on his Cayman trips?”
“Yes, that’s what Polly told me,” I said.
“Did you bring the laptop with you?”
I scooted back from the table. “It’s in the bedroom.” I walked through the small living room, happy Ray took the death chair and I didn’t have to spend the night with it.
The guys had cleaned off the table, and three piles of paper were stacked neatly along with four packs of post-it notes. The eight-foot-long butcher paper now hung, taped to the upper kitchen cabinets.
“You’ve been busy, Ray.” I pointed to the pictures of the Biases, the Cranes, the Hansens, and the Thorstens, my Sunnyview resident Ingrid’s son and grandchildren. Post-it notes with dates in yellow were under the pictures. Pink post-it notes had illegible scrawl writing on it. Green post-in notes had Cayman written in block letters and a date.
“There are three families that I think we can prove the adoptions were illegal. The Crane’s kids are definitely the ones from that article you found.” Ray flipped through one of the stacks of paper and pulled out the article. He grabbed blue painter’s tape and taped it under the pink post-it note. “Now, what we don’t know is if the families involved knew the kids were black market babies.”
My gut twisted. “I can’t believe anyone would–”
“You’d be surprised,” Joe said quietly. “Desperate people do desperate things. I’m sure Tyler really thought he was providing a better future for the babies.”
Ray pointed to Isaac’s picture. “Do you know anything about them?”
“Ingrid said their parents died in the Guatemalan earthquake.” I closed my eyes. “Do we know if all the adoptions Tyler worked on were illegal?”
“No,” Ray said. “In fact, I would suspect most are legal.” He nodded to Joe. “Search Peter Adkins, Ohio, and disbarred, and see what pops up.”
Joe opened the laptop and typed, using his pointer fingers. He whistled. “Listen to this, Peter Adkins was permanently disbarred from the practice of law on September 4, 2010 for counseling his client to bribe witnesses and for delivering the bribe payments to the witnesses.”
I looked over his shoulder at the laptop screen. Peter Adkins looked harmless dressed in a suit with his dark hair and eyes, and easy smile. “Hard to believe someone so innocuous looking could have murdered Oscar.”
Joe continued typing and looked at the butcher paper. “The last couple of Guatemalan earthquakes listed in Wikipedia are 2012 and 2017.”
“Write that on a yellow sticky,” Ray said.
I pulled the yellow post-it pad to me and wrote the information. “When were the 2017 earthquakes?”
“June 14th and June 22nd,” Joe said.
I stuck the yellow post-it under Ingrid’s grandchildren. I’d estimate the children to be between the ages of two and four. They wouldn’t have been alive for the 2012 earthquake. “Can you check Tyler’s court schedule? The Thorsten’s have a picture of the kids at Christmas, so the adoption should be sometime between June and December of 2017.”
Joe turned back to the computer.
“Hold on, I have access to some court documents.” Ray sat next to Joe and pulled the laptop in front of him.
“How’s that?” I asked.
“Before I retired, I made sure I’d maintain access to useful websites.” He shot me a ‘don’t-judge’ look.
“That’ll come in handy if you go into private investigation,” Joe said.
Ray nodded and typed faster than my high school home-economics teacher.
“Why would you have access to West Virginia family courts?” I asked.
Ray rewarded me with his signature ‘are-you-an-idiot’ look. “Most of what I did as a Military Police Detective was petty theft and domestic disputes, including child support. I have access to most states.”
I lowered my voice. “Your mom said you were shot on duty.”
He groaned. “Of course, she did.”
“In your right leg?” Joe asked.
“Yeah, I took a slug to my calf from an angry husband who didn’t appreciate me doing my due diligence. How’d you know?”
Joe tilted his head. “You’ve got a slight foot drop. Probably from the peroneal nerve. Did you get physical therapy after the injury?”
Ray scoffed. “That’s for–”
I cleared my throat and eyed him with my I-will-put-soap-in-your-mouth glare.
“No. No therapy,” Ray said quietly. He nudged Joe. “The kids never gave you lip, did they.”
Joe grinned. “Nope.”
Ray continued typing. “Got it. September 23, 2017.” He smiled. “Ingrid should be able to relax. The court case documents include the parents’ death certificates and the adoption from the Sisters of Mercy Orphanage.”
I slumped in my chair, overwhelmed with relief. “Thank goodness.”
Ray continued typing. “Okay, based on the dates you gave me, I’ve pulled up the court documents for the three other adoptions. I’ll email a link to you. I’ll take the Biases. Joe, you look through the Crane’s stuff, and Charlie you take the Hansens. We’re looking for any information about the birth parents or orphanage, and anything with Peter Adkins’s name on it. Check through the exhibits first.”
“Got it.” I opened the email from Ray and was directed to a folder on his Google Drive.
“I’ve got a guy who may be able to tell us if Peter Adkins used his passport to travel on the dates Tyler took off. I just sent him an email.”
“Does Oscar have a printer?” Joe asked.
“No. Is that weird?” I asked.
Ray shook his head. “He could print stuff from work. Everything is digital these days.”
“I guess he wasn’t printing recipes off Pinterest,” I admitted.
“The Crane’s baby came from the Bringing Families Together Adoption Agency in Cincinnati,” Joe said. “The birth record doesn’t have a name. It shows the baby was surrendered after birth, and the mother’s name is listed as Female Doe.”
“Is that legal?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Joe said.
“Me neither. But if the baby was the result of a rape, maybe the mother could choose to remain anonymous,” Ray said.
I read through the first court document and found which exhibit would include the birth record and adoption agency. “Bringing Families Together. The Hansens used the same agency.” I searched for the birth record and opened it up. “Noel Sandoval is listed as the mother. She’s only fifteen according to the birth record, and the father isn’t listed.” I opened a new tab in my web browser and searched for Bringing Families Together Adoption Agency in Cincinnati.
Ray clapped. “Yep, same agency. Birth mother also fifteen, but her name i
s Minerva Ruiz.”
My search yielded no results for Cincinnati. “The agency isn’t on Google.”
Ray nodded. “Yeah, there’s one in Missouri, but it looks legit. Still, the FBI will find this useful.”
“The FBI probably already has this information, don’t you think?” Joe asked. “More important, where is Peter Adkins right now?”
“I don’t know,” Ray said. “But to make him a likely suspect for the murders, we have to prove he’s part of the adoption agency. I’ll pass on everything to the FBI tomorrow.”
“You said you’d check into Oscar and Tyler’s financials. Did you find anything?” I asked.
Ray stacked Oscar’s tablet on top of the laptop. “Oscar’s credit rating was good for a college student. It showed his loans and he’s never missed a payment. Tyler’s credit rating was worse.”
“Why’s that?” Joe asked.
“Because he appeared to be spending more than he made. His credit cards were ten to fifteen thousand a month. It looks like he bought everything using a card. His income on last year’s taxes was $120,000. I’m guessing he was using the Cayman account to save for retirement because he had no assets listed other than his car and house.” Ray stood. “I think that’s all we can do for now.”
Joe stood and stretched. “Sounds good. I’ll follow Charlie to work in the morning so she has a car, just in case.”
“I should be there by lunch.” Ray tucked the electronic equipment under his arm. He cut his gaze to the butcher paper. “You okay if we leave that up?”
“Yeah. We’ll meet here after work and continue.” I stood and stretched my stiff neck.
“Good. I’ll see if I can find tax records for the adoption agency. Any records.” Ray walked toward the front door and stopped. “There’s one thing I don’t understand. How Oscar overdosed unintentionally?”
Joe cleared his throat. “I’ve been thinking about that. In medical school a teenager came into the emergency room after being overdosed with insulin. His little brother had been playing with his needles and injected expired insulin into an orange. Their mom walked in and the kid afraid of getting into trouble hid the needle, but left the orange out. His brother ate the orange and overdosed. Oscar would be disoriented, but if he was working late with Tyler, he could have been overdosed at work and Tyler and his partner brought him back here. If Peter bought kids off the black market, he could get insulin.”
Ray scrubbed his hand through his beard. “I’d have seen or heard them drive up.”
“If you were home,” I said. “If Joe’s right and they were working late, you could’ve been having dinner with your mom, or out. They could’ve dropped off Oscar at eight or nine rather than the middle of the night.”
Ray looked around the room. “That makes sense. No forced entry because they used his keys. They probably turned on the TV, set it on a timer so it looked like he was home.”
“And we can’t prove any of it. Tyler’s dead, we can’t ask him.” Frustration bled into my voice.
Ray grunted. “And that proves his partner is tying up loose ends. Be careful. Lock up. I’ll keep the security camera on.”
“Deal.” Joe followed Ray to the front door and locked it behind him.
We trudged to the bedroom. Even with fresh sheets and all of Oscar’s things gone, I still felt like he was present.
Waiting.
Wanting justice.
And I’d make sure he’d get it.
Chapter Thirty
My magical memories of time spent at the cabin didn’t include the lumpy mattress, the drafty windows, the water heater that took twenty minutes to heat up and held twelve minutes of warm water.
Even Joe woke up grumpy. He creaked and cracked when he got out of bed. “We’re staying at a hotel tonight.” He stretched and winced. “I’m too old for camping out.”
I pulled my hair back into a ponytail and showered, highlighting the major parts and getting out before the water went from cool to frigid. Even my hair seemed to revolt, and I had a cloud of frizzy curls that I attempted to tame and gave up and pulled into a bun.
Joe met me in the kitchen. He pulled me into his arms and rocked me back and forth. “We forgot to bring coffee.”
I blinked, the words taking a moment to register. No. Caffeine.
Even the small circles he caressed on my back couldn’t lessen the blow. “It’s okay.” He kissed my head. “You’ll survive and there’s coffee at work.”
I loved Joe, but his ability to function in the morning after the worst sleep in years was flat out cocky. Unimaginable. And I had to drive. Operating heavy machinery decaffeinated seemed dangerous.
“Is there tea?” I whined.
Joe’s lips pinched together. “There is, but it’s chamomile.”
“There’s no caffeine?” Hope lingered in my voice.
“Babe, I think you might consider twelve-stepping your addiction to caffeine.”
I quirked one eyebrow.
Joe held up his hands. “Right. We’ll table that discussion for later.”
I drove to work in a fog. Frustrated. Miserable. In my rear-view mirror I could see Joe signing along with the radio.
He waved and blew me a kiss when I pulled into the parking lot at Sunnyview. I skipped the locker room and went straight to the coffee shop.
“You okay, Charlie?” Nora joined me in the hallway.
For once I didn’t have to slow down to keep up with her. “I haven’t had coffee yet.”
“Hoo boy.” Nora thump-slid faster. “Make a hole, people. Charlie needs coffee.”
Word travelled down the hall and to the barista, so that when I approached the counter I had an extra-large black coffee waiting for me.
I reached for my purse and realized I’d left it in my car. I looked at the barista for assistance.
“It’s on the house.” She pointed to the counter. “There’s cream and sweeteners over there. Do you need help?”
Bless her heart.
“I’m on it,” Nora said. She brought me a wooden stick, three Splendas and the creamer. She doctored the coffee and pushed it toward me. “Drink. You’ll feel human.”
I sipped. And sipped again. “Do you think I should quit caffeine?”
Nora cocked her head to the side. “Maybe not when you’re working. Now, tell me about your break-in.”
So, I did.
And I told her that Ingrid’s grandkids were definitely from Guatemala and legally adopted.
She did a little jig and hugged me. “That’s great news. I’m gonna find Ingrid.” She practically glided away.
I popped my head in Marabel’s office. “Morning?”
Marabel checked her watch. “Why, yes, Charlie, it is morning. What is wrong? You look… different.”
“I forgot to bring coffee to the cabin. I forgot it’s really drafty, too. And the mattress was lumpy.” I fell into the chair in front of her desk, careful not to spill the precious liquid. “No coffee. No Charlie.” I sipped. “I’ll be fine in another four ounces or so.”
Marabel grinned. “I understand.”
“And I left my purse in the car.” The coffee had cooled enough and I chugged it.
“Okay. Maybe after your second cup you’ll remember to ask me about the strange guy going into Evie’s room.” Marabel waited for me to respond.
“Was that only yesterday?” I finished my coffee. “Who was it?”
“We’re not sure. Dark haired, thin but not athletic, band t-shirt and black pants. Drives an SUV,” she said.
“With a TapOut sticker on the back?” I asked.
“Yes.” She leaned forward. “Do you know who it is?”
“I’m not positive, but…” The physical description fit. Drugs. Tyler’s office. Organized crime. My brain tingled. “I think it’s the guy who restocks our vending machines.”
Marabel picked up her phone. “Go get your purse. I’ll call Mr. Nelson and see if he can find video of the SUV on days when the machines are st
ocked.”
I stood, still clutching my cup, and went out to the parking lot to get my purse. Could this guy be the link? He’d know what car I drove. His route would make him invisible because he had a reason to be anywhere. The overdose at The Pickle had a guy with Fentanyl, like the ones stashed in Evie’s room. Evie’s room, which was located near the pharmacy and nearly always empty since she spent most of her time with Ray’s dad. But what about Eric? How was he involved with this?
Walking back into work with my purse felt like a do-over, re-entering the facility, restarting my day. More awake. The police would investigate. He’d be found. I’d be safe. After putting my purse in a locker, I went to the cafeteria. I paid for a second cup of coffee and tipped her a ten, and then focused on work, my patients, and hoped I was right. During a short break, I poked my head into Mr. Nelson’s office.
The first thing that struck me was the number of word jumbles and word search books piled on a corner of his desk. The second thing was the large monitor on his desk with three camera angles. Mr. Nelson watched the monitor on fast forward. He paused the video and smiled at me.
“What can I help you with, Charlie?”
“I wanted to see if you found the SUV.” I glanced at the jumbles book, and then the screen that showed a clear view of the Sunnyview Villages sign. Maybe today would be full of epiphanies. “But can I ask you a personal question.”
“Maybe,” he drew the word out.
“How do you feel about the Sunnyview Villages sign.”
“It was supposed to be a temporary sign,” he said. “I don’t like it at all. Why?”
I stepped into his office and whispered, “Mr. Nelson, are you our anagram anarchist?”
His brows furrowed and he thought for a moment and then his face split into a huge smile revealing perfect white teeth. “I like that–anagram anarchist. Very clever.” His eyes twinkled. “And I’ll never tell.” He turned back to the monitor. “I haven’t spotted the SUV yet, but I just started. I’ll come by and let you know when I find it.”
“Thanks, Mr. Nelson.” I patted his shoulder and headed to the nurses’ station. At work, I was safe, and Ray would be here soon.