by Diane Capri
When Barbara returned, Jess asked about the missing files.
“Huh. That’s odd.” Barbara pulled out her phone. “I don’t have the actual case files, but I can search the financial records.”
Jess beamed at her. The woman was an angel.
She worked her phone quickly while Jess looked over her shoulder. The screen was covered in names and numbers that meant nothing to Jess. After a bit of sorting, Barbara found one of the missing case numbers, all of which were listed as consultations and the fees were always $150.
“What sort of consultation was Belk doing for $150 each?” Jess said.
Barbara shrugged. “Hard to say. A hundred fifty dollars used to be our standard fee for an hour’s consultation before we took on a client. If we didn’t take the case, they never paid anything more. So it could be anything, I guess.”
Jess felt her hope collapse. These files were another dead end.
Barbara’s face lit up. “But there wouldn’t be a record in the file for a consultation. Because there’s a case number, that means we actually did take the case. We should have more documents. I don’t know why they’re not here.”
“Do you have any information on how the bill was paid?”
“Sure.” Barbara brought up another page. “Cash. I’d show you the invoice, but it’s confidential, too.”
Jess nodded. “Who signed for receipt of the money on behalf of the firm?”
“Hang on.” Barbara scrolled to the bottom of the page. “Looks like Tanya Norell.”
Her blood ran cold. “Norell.”
Barbara smiled. “Tanya was our bookkeeper forever. Did all Mr. Belk’s finances. She left about five years ago. I’ll bet she could answer all of your questions. Do you know her?”
Jess shook her head. “But I’m going to.”
CHAPTER FIFTY
Tuesday, November 28
8:45 p.m.
Kansas City, Kansas
Fernandez drove to the Norell house. He was quiet, and so was Jess. Her phone buzzed. Barbara had sent the invoice with Tanya Norell’s name on it, even though she shouldn’t have and she’d be in trouble if her bosses found out.
Still, Jess was grateful to her. With Hallman dead, the Norells were another link to Peter, and she wouldn’t waste the opportunity to talk to them.
The police radio crackled with almost constant reports. Officers called in an accident on Interstate 435. The dispatcher called for assistance with a robbery in Glenaire. A jogger had collapsed in Sweetwater Park.
KCPD officers responded with methodical precision, mere seconds between a report on the radio and a car dispatched to assist.
Fernandez stopped the Crown Vic in front of Norell’s place, exactly where she and Morris had stopped earlier in the day.
The Norell house was dark. She noticed a fine line of light around the drapes in one window on the ground floor.
She followed Fernandez to the front of the house. The doorbell played a tune that seemed to run forever. The door opened a fraction.
Mrs. Norell peered through the gap. “Yes?”
Fernandez held out his badge. “We’d like to talk to you.”
“Could you come back tomorrow?”
“No. Unless you want me to bring an arrest warrant.”
“We’re getting ready for bed.” When they didn’t leave, Mrs. Norell stared a few moments before releasing the chain and opening the door. “You better go in the living room.”
Jess plopped into an armchair. Fernandez remained standing.
Mrs. Norell sat on the sofa. “My husband is resting.”
Fernandez nodded. “We have some bad news. Ammerson Belk is dead.”
Mrs. Norell’s eyes widened and her mouth hung open. “What? I don’t…. I don’t believe it.”
“I’m afraid it’s true. He was killed about an hour ago,” Fernandez said.
She shook her head. “No. How?”
“We’re waiting for a coroner’s report, but it looks like he was strangled.”
Mrs. Norell turned white. She swallowed. “I mean…who…do you know?”
“What’s your connection to Belk?”
She wrapped her arms around herself. “Just… He’s my husband’s lawyer. Was his lawyer.”
“Did you know him?”
She shook her head.
“Personally?”
She scowled. “No!”
“Did your husband have a lot of business with Mr. Belk?”
“Well, some. He was running a business. You always have to have a lawyer.”
“A family lawyer? Was your husband in some sort of family-related business?”
Norell’s gaze flipped to Fernandez then back into the middle distance. “I think… I guess he just got to know Belk. You know? Hit it off.”
“What about Earle Gotting?” Fernandez asked.
She shook her head. “I don’t know him.”
“He bought an expensive Audi from your husband six months ago.”
“I don’t know anything about that.”
Fernandez frowned. “Earle Gotting has disappeared, and Ammerson Belk is dead. Two people connected to you have had a very bad day. You think that’s a coincidence?”
“How would I know?”
Fernandez’s phone rang. He stepped out to take the call.
Tanya Norell glanced at Jess.
“We found several old baby bottles at Gotting’s apartment,” Jess said.
Norell screwed up her face. “And what’s that got to do with me?”
“To our knowledge, Gotting never had children.”
She huffed. “Maybe he looked after other people’s kids?”
Jess leaned forward. “That’s exactly what I think, Mrs. Norell. He looked after other people’s children.”
“So, good for him,” she nodded.
“I don’t think he was kind. I think he stole children while your lawyer, the man you worked for, Belk, sold them in a phony illegal adoption scam.”
Mrs. Norell screwed up her face. “Good grief. No. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I don’t believe Gotting paid you fifty-three thousand dollars for your Audi, either. I think you gave it to him.”
“What’s this about?” She puffed her chest, indignantly.
“Perhaps Belk helped you sell the babies Gotting stole.”
“No.” Mrs. Norell shook her head vigorously. “Of course not.”
“You paid Gotting off. Back payments, maybe? Or hush money? Perhaps he knows enough to get you locked up?”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Maybe you and your husband killed Belk because he knew everything.”
Mrs. Norell stood. “We didn’t kill anyone. And certainly not Mr. Belk. You’re not pinning that on me.”
Jess stood up. “I don’t need to pin anything on anybody. The truth will come out. I’ll make sure it does. That’s what I do. Count on it.”
Tanya Norell’s face had turned a sickly shade of green.
Jess pulled her phone from her pocket and held it out, Barbara’s spreadsheet on the screen. “I’ll be looking much more closely into the financial records at Somersall-McCree. You can count on that, too.”
Norell leaned forward, adjusting her glasses to see the spreadsheet clearly. She jerked back. “I don’t know what that is.”
“It’s a list of Belk’s cases.” Jess pointed out a line. “This one is for consulting.”
Norell shook her head slowly. “I don’t know—”
“You know what consulting is, Mrs. Norell,” Jess said. “It’s when a lawyer meets with someone to assess a case or provide advice. These are Belk’s cases from thirteen years ago.”
Norell shook her head more vigorously.
“A case number was assigned at the firm for each of these consultations. That means work was done and a file opened.”
Two cars drew up close to the house and cut their engines.
Norell uttered an exasperated sigh. “I don’t k
now anything about that.”
Jess scrolled to the bottom of the page. “Really. Because you signed this page.”
Norell’s lower jaw trembled. She forced her lips together and shrugged.
“You were the bookkeeper,” Jess said. “Bean counters know everything.”
Norell frowned and swallowed. “I was a clerk. I don’t know what Belk did.”
“Two minutes ago, you didn’t know Belk at all. Now your name is all over his business finances.” Jess cocked her head. “And I’ve only been searching your background for about an hour. Imagine what I’ll find once I get serious.”
Tanya Norell crossed her arms and sat down, her mouth clamped shut. Which is what she should have done from the beginning. Jess smirked.
Fernandez opened the front door. A KCPD officer walked in, a torn and charred plastic bag in his hands. The two had a mumbled discussion as Fernandez rummaged in the bag.
“What’s that? What’s going on?” Mrs. Norell said.
The officer left the bag with Fernandez and stepped into the living room.
“They found the bag in a park nearby,” Fernandez said quietly to Jess. He handed her a latex glove.
The bag was stuffed with damp and charred paper. Jess used the glove to pull out the remains of a page. She saw names and addresses, and an official-looking stamp cut off at the bottom of the page.
“An adoption record,” she said.
Fernandez used another glove to pull out a small piece of paper. It was half a check made out to Somersall-McCree, dated eight years earlier.
Jess pointed to the name. “The name’s misspelled. It’s missing a letter.”
Fernandez turned it over. The back of the check was endorsed by T. Norell.
Mrs. Norell stood. “What’s going on?”
Jess pulled another check from the bag. It was dated six years earlier and had the same spelling mistake.
“These are checks reflecting payments going back over several years,” Fernandez said, riffling through them quickly.
Jess looked at the adoption record. It looked like any other formal court document to her. The payments were most likely made by people who didn’t realize they’d been given the wrong spelling. All a part of the scam, no doubt, since the checks had been endorsed and cashed.
Mrs. Norell stepped toward them. “What’s going on?” she asked again.
The officer held his hand out, keeping her back.
Fernandez closed the bag. “There’s a lot of evidence in this mess. Lots of large checks flowing back and forth. We need to get this to forensics.”
Mrs. Norell’s face contorted, her eyebrows pressed down and wrinkles creased deeply around her nose. “What is that? I’ve never seen that.”
Jess forced her anger back. “It’s all the evidence any court will need of the illegal adoptions you conducted. You made a lot of money selling stolen babies. And you’re going to prison for a very, very long time.”
“No! I did no such thing!”
Jess shook the adoption record in front of Mrs. Norell’s face. “This is proof!”
“We didn’t sell any stolen babies. That’s crazy! We never—”
“Really? Because your name is on the checks.” Jess took a deep breath. “Good luck explaining that.”
“But…but, we just handled the paperwork. The…we helped to match up parents with kids who needed a good home.” Norell whispered, “I swear. That’s what we did.”
Jess lost her patience. “Earle Gotting took my son. A baby. Not even two years old. He brought the babies to you and your husband. Then your lawyer, Belk, sold the children.”
Norell shook her head. “That is not true. It’s not!”
Jess shook the adoption papers in Norell’s face. “You knew what was going on. You collected the money. You’re going to rot in prison.”
“I didn’t,” Norell whispered, a horrified look on her face.
“Oh, hell yes you did.” Jess grabbed the plastic bag. “All these kids? These parents? The pain and anguish. The suffering you’ve caused? You, your husband, and everyone else involved. If it was up to me, you’d all get the death penalty. As it is, you’re going to prison forever. I will never, ever, allow you to breathe free air again.”
Jess leaned so close to Norell’s face she could feel her breath.
“Jess.” Fernandez put his hand on her shoulder. “Step back.”
When she did, the officer placed Tanya Norell under arrest, read her her rights, cuffed her, and led her out of the house.
Jess pointed to the upstairs bedrooms. “We need to get him, too.”
Fernandez shook his head and held up the papers. “Another lie. Her husband was out there burning those documents. KCPD already took him in.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Wednesday, November 29
7:30 a.m.
Colorado Springs, Colorado
The air was dry and bitter. Tiny flakes of snow blew over the windshield of Earle Gotting’s Audi, dancing and curving in the wind, touching the glass briefly before they twirled away.
He struggled to suppress his overwhelming cravings for drugs in order to keep his mind as clear as possible. He hadn’t slept much because of his throbbing foot. And he was cold. He started the engine and switched on both the heat and the heated seats. His clothing wasn’t warm enough. He had limited cash to buy warmer ones, and he was reluctant to take more chances that might cause people to remember him anyway.
He’d flipped through the news but found nothing worrisome reported from Kansas City. Which could have been okay, but he feared not. Thirty-six hours ago he’d escaped from Metcalfe. Plenty of time for Hallman or Metcalfe to locate Peter Kimball and steal him before Gotting had the chance.
He had one big advantage. He knew Colorado. He’d skied and snowboarded many of the resorts around the state before he’d started using and selling drugs in Kansas City. He knew back routes to get onto trails and the easiest ways to steal passes and avoid suspicious security staff. He loved the mountains. He’d never felt better than the times he’d spent here.
He grinned. Peter Kimball’s new family had moved back to Colorado, which was a bit of luck he hadn’t dared to count on.
The clock on the dashboard indicated it was time. He drove a mile along the minor roads to Peter’s school, caught in school traffic. In the last couple of blocks, the line of cars peeled off, and he headed directly to the back of the school.
He parked by the industrial buildings two blocks from the school’s rear exit, which was the one Peter normally used. If his mother dropped him off at the front door today, he’d need a backup plan. He didn’t have one.
Choosing a different time to kidnap the boy would have required extensive surveillance. The sort of thing he’d been able to do when he lived in apartment buildings and stole babies. It could take weeks to confidently nail down a kid’s schedule. He didn’t have the time here. This whole job had been a rush. This plan had to work and it had to work today. Right now, in fact.
He rolled his car too close to the corner to prevent any parents from parking in front of him. An immediate right turn would shield his license plate from Good Samaritans, should there be any. This spot also gave him a pretty straight run to the right highway. He could get out of here fast.
He watched via the rearview mirror. Peter wore a dark blue coat yesterday. Maybe he’d wear the same coat today. But maybe not. Gotting watched the faces of the boys carefully. He needed to get the right boy on the first try.
A pair of girls walked onto the street and passed him by without so much as a second glance.
A white panel van appeared behind him and blocked his view. The driver jumped out and jogged across the street with a parcel under his arm.
Gotting stepped out of his car and walked around the van to peer down the street, watching for Peter.
The van driver returned and pulled away. The rear of the van slid on the snow as he raced around the corner.
Gotting returned t
o the Audi’s warmth and kept watch using his rearview mirror.
Two kids wearing matching yellow jackets came into view, pushing and shoving each other as they ambled down the street. They eyeballed Gotting as they walked by his car.
He looked down and fiddled with the radio. No reason to give them a clear view of his face. Bad enough they’d noticed him and his Audi. He heard them talking about him as they moved on, but he didn’t look up until they passed.
He glanced into his mirror. His breath caught.
Peter was approaching from the other side of the street. He wore the same dark blue coat and no hat.
He had the same curly blond hair as his mother. He had her eyes, too. Big, brown, ringed with dark lashes. Gotting might not have remembered Jess Kimball’s features from years ago if he hadn’t seen her on that damn Denver PM interview. Her face had burned itself into his brain.
Gotting slammed his palm on the steering wheel. He was parked on the wrong side of the street. He stabbed the button to open the trunk and rushed to the rear of the car.
The two kids in the yellow jackets turned and watched Gotting’s burst of activity. He lifted the trunk lid to block the view.
The Audi’s trunk was both deep and wide. He’d removed the emergency release handle, just in case. Kids were too smart for their own good these days. Inside the trunk, he’d struggled to store a heavy, three-foot section of tree trunk.
He wrapped his hands around the tree and hefted one end up and out past the edge of the car’s trunk.
He glanced behind him. Peter was twenty yards away, walking purposefully in the cold.
Grunting and groaning, he dragged the trunk another few inches from the car. He panted heavily and put his hand on his back.
He raised his hand and waved.
“Excuse me,” he called. “Could you lend me a hand?”
Peter slowed his pace and looked across the street.
Gotting gingerly stretched his back. “I just need to get this out of the car and I’ll be okay.”
Peter stopped walking. Nice kid. Too bad.