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Authors: Rosalind Noonan

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BOOK: All She Ever Wanted
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Chapter 25
I
t was like some macabre festival. Getting past the cluster of cop cars and news crews in the street in front of his house was like trying to find street parking at Yankee Stadium on game night.
He sneered when a cop stopped him halfway up the driveway. “It's my baby you're looking for. I'm Leo Green.”
“Okay, sir. Go on ahead.”
Leo lunged under the carport and leaped up the steps. Inside, it was warm and disheveled and oddly quiet. He could see the back of Chelsea's head, and from the way she sat alone in her spot on the sofa, you would almost think it was any ordinary day.
Except for the circus outside and the fingerprint powder darkening kitchen surfaces.
“Chelsea . . .”
She sprang up, more alert than he'd expected. Her blue eyes glistened with tears.
“What happened?”
She shook her head. “I don't know. I fell asleep and . . . when I woke up she was gone, and I can't sort out the details in my head about whether I left her down here alone or put her in her crib or left her outside in the stroller. I can't remember and . . . she's gone.” A tear streamed down her face, but her eyes remained locked on his, strong, determined, and frightened. “I'm so sorry. I can't believe I slept through it . . . whatever happened to her.”
He closed the space between them and folded her into his arms. “It's not your fault. We're going to find her. Where is that detective? Detective Santos.”
“Right here, Mr. Green.”
He eased away from Chelsea to glance back at the side door, where a petite woman in a brown coat stood beside a cop.
The woman, a brunette with intense black eyes, introduced herself as Grace Santos. The cop, Sgt. Balfour, was in charge of the police investigation.
“They took fingerprints,” Chelsea said breathlessly. “And they used dogs. They tried to sniff out a trail, to see where she is, but it didn't work.”
“The canines were inconclusive,” the detective said. “Since Annabelle is an infant, we're focusing on finding witnesses who might have seen something in this neighborhood last night. A vehicle or someone near your home. We're also examining the circle of people who have had contact with her. In most cases, children are snatched by someone they know, someone denied custody or visiting rights.” Detective Santos suggested that they sit down to talk, but Leo couldn't.
“I think I know who took our daughter.”
His words seemed to suck the air from the room.
“You do?” Chelsea's eyes burned with hope.
“My ex-wife, Jennifer Green.” He turned away from Chelsea; he couldn't bear to see the accusation in her eyes. “She's moved back to Westchester, and she's been calling me. Persistent calls. I think she may have been stalking Chelsea and the baby.”
The detective nodded. “How long were you married?”
“Less than a year.”
“Did you have children together?”
“No, but she was pregnant once. She miscarried.”
“And did the marriage end amicably?” Grace asked.
“We remained on okay terms, but I had to cut her off as much as I could. She's not stable,” Leo said, then amended that. “She's fucking crazy, and when she sets her sights on something, she doesn't let go.” He told the cops about some of Jennifer's antics over the past few years. “I've come this close to calling the cops on her a few times, but usually if I ignore her for long enough, she backs off.”
“But we haven't heard from her for a long time,” Chelsea said. “Not since she moved to Philadelphia.”
“Actually, she's been calling my cell over the last few weeks.”
“What?”
“I'm sorry, Chels. I didn't want to upset you with it, with everything that was going on, but she's been calling persistently. Mostly I ignored her. But when I got your call, Jennifer was the first person who came to mind.”
The detective nodded. “It's good to trust your instincts.”
“As soon as my flight landed, I called her and . . . here's the big tip-off: I could hear a baby crying in the background.”
Chelsea gasped. “Was it Annie?”
“I think it was. Jennifer stole our baby.”
Chelsea pressed a fist to her mouth. “She's just crazy enough to do something like that.”
“Maybe Ms. Green has a baby of her own?” Sgt. Balfour suggested.
Leo shook his head. “She would have told me. That was Annabelle crying. I know her voice.”
“Your ex-wife is a good lead.” The detective's fingers were flying over her iPhone. “Jennifer Green, right? We'll check her out right away.”
“I'm going with you,” Leo said.
Grace looked at the sergeant. “Not a good idea.”
“Mr. Green . . . can I call you Leo?” Balfour asked. “The investigation will move faster if you let the detectives do their job. I'll be here, coordinating the scene. You want to be here, for when your daughter is returned to you.”
When your daughter is returned to you . . .
Leo would remain glued to the threshold if it meant seeing Annabelle one second sooner.
“We'll keep you apprised of important developments,” Grace said. “Do you have contact information for Jennifer Green?”
Leo gave the detective her cell number, but he didn't know where she was living now. “She returned to her old job in sales for Sparklet, a phone company.”
Santos nodded. “We'll find her.” She tucked the iPhone into a wide pocket of her jacket. “I'd like to talk with you more, Leo, but in the interest of time, I'm going to track down your ex-wife right away.”
“Good. Thank you.”
As the two cops left, Leo and Chelsea stared at the side door.
“I hope it was Jennifer,” Chelsea said. “She would do something like this to get your attention, but she wouldn't hurt Annabelle, would she? I mean, she's not that crazy.”
Leo didn't answer, various possibilities weighed heavily on his shoulders. He didn't think Jennifer would hurt a child, but she had fooled him before. Yes, she had fooled everyone.
Chapter 26
J
ennifer Green wasn't so easy to find.
“Where the hell are you living now?”
Grace sat in the back of the police van, the command center for the search, and tapped away at the keyboard, trying to get an address for the woman who'd recently moved back to Westchester.
In Grace's experience, the fastest way to find a person was through the Department of Motor Vehicles. She had served warrants to guys who had evaded the law for years, but finally gave themselves up by providing the DMV with a current address. A man could forgo voting in an election or getting a birthday card from his mother, but a driver's license was essential. Grace was convinced that it was part of the definition when you looked up
manhood
in the dictionary.
But Jennifer Green's New York State license was still current. She probably hadn't switched it over when she moved to Philly. The address, an apartment in Larchmont, was old. The computer told her someone else was currently residing there.
She did find out that Jennifer Green had no prior arrests. No children.
But Chris was on his way, and she had promised him a “hot lead.” They could drop in on Ms. Green at Sparklet, her place of employment, but of course she wouldn't have the baby there.
The directory for Sparklet, Inc., listed Arturo Testani as human resource manager. Grace couldn't demand any information from them without a warrant, but maybe they would work with her. It was worth a call.
“Mr. Testani's office,” answered a chipper male voice.
Grace determined that the boss wasn't in, but his assistant Robert was “happy to help.” Maybe that was better. She played the detective card, hoping that Robert would be impressed.
He was.
“I'm investigating a case, and we're trying to get in touch with one of your employees. A Ms. Jennifer Green?”
“Shall I transfer you to her line?” Robert asked.
“Actually, I'm looking for her home address. I know you're not in the habit of giving out personal information on employees, but, well, this is a police investigation, and I was hoping that your company could help me.”
“Mmm. I'm not sure.” Robert paused. “May I get your name again?”
She spelled it out, then waited while he “checked on something.”
“Here we go, detective.” He gave her an address in Pelham, just west of New Rochelle. “I hope that helps with your investigation.”
“I'm sure it will.” Grace was already mapping out the route on her iPhone. “You're a gem, Robert. Thanks.”
 
As soon as Grace closed the door of the unmarked unit, Chris Panteleoni turned to her with a childish grin. “Okay, what's my surprise?”
“Whatever happened to, ‘Good morning, Grace? How'd the night shift go?' ”
They had developed an easy banter in the three years they'd worked together in Missing Persons. Chris was single and ten years younger than Grace, and sometimes she thought of him as a kid brother.
“I know how the shift went,” he said. “You caught a case, and now we're going to work it twenty-four seven until we find this kid. So what's up?”
“Turn left at the light. I've got it all mapped out.” She flashed the screen at him. “We're going to Pelham to check out Leo Green's ex-wife.”
“Ex-wife? And the domestic revenge plot thickens.” Chris kept his eyes on the road.
“It might pan out.” She told him about the ex-wife's notorious stalking habits. How she'd moved back to town recently. How Leo Green had heard a baby crying in the background when he called her on the phone today.
“Really? That would be a first for me. I've heard of scorned significant others stealing cars. Jewelry. Lottery tickets. Even drugs. But a kid? Especially when it's not even your own.”
“The point is, the pissed-off person wants the most painful revenge possible.”
“True. But it's a lot of work to deal with a baby once you steal it.”
“Agreed.”
“The ex would make an interesting perp, but what's the mother like? For infants, a home abduction is rare, and when it does happen a lot of times it's the mother gone crazy that takes out her kids.”
“Chelsea Maynard doesn't remember many details from last night. She could be faking, but I have a feeling she's legit. You saw my report on those muffins that went to the lab. She seemed groggy this morning. Dazed. I know that postpartum depression can do that to a woman, too, but as the morning went on she came out of it.”
“Another postpartum depression defense?” He rolled his eyes.
“I oughtta smack you. PPD is for real.”
“That would be harassment,” he said.
“You need to get enlightened. Read a book. Or at least check it out on Web MD.”
“I'm just saying, it can be really bad. There was that tragedy back in Port Jervis a few years ago. The mother drove a van into the Hudson River. Killed herself and her three kids.”
“That was tragic, but I don't think Chelsea Maynard killed her baby—and it's not just because I'm a soft touch.”
“But you can't rule her out as a suspect yet. Unless you found some evidence you forgot to mention.”
“I haven't ruled her out.” But Grace felt sorry for Chelsea. Aside from the early morning babbling, the woman made sense. She seemed depressed but stable. Grace's instincts told her that Maynard didn't kill her baby, but instincts did not hold up in court.
“I've got a little something for you,” Chris said. “Something popped from all the names you've been sending my way all morning.”
“Something came up in a background check?”
He nodded. “A real blast from the past, too. Charges against the neighbor, Louise Pickler. A case so old, it's not even in the database.”
Intrigue made the hairs at the back of her neck tingle. “What kind of charges?”
“From family court. Turns out Pickler has a history of child abuse. I had to go way back, thirty-some years to when she lost custody of her two kids to the husband. This after the kids showed signs of physical abuse.”
“And that was back in the day when the courts rarely separated kids from their mother.”
“You met her, right? Did you get a sense of that? A woman who'd use her hands?”
Grace thought about the woman with the thick makeup and the yappy dog. “Self-absorbed, yes, but she's all about taking care of her dog. There's something dysfunctional about her. And she claims to have no love for baby Annabelle. The baby's screaming bothered her before she went south last November, and she made that complaint this week.”
“Could it be she snatched the kid to shut it up?”
Grace frowned. “As in, kill the baby? Not likely, but possible.”
“Or maybe the annoyance is all a show. Maybe she's trying to replace the family she lost thirty years ago.”
“And she's got Annabelle holed up in her house next door?” Grace said, thinking out loud. “We need to get inside that woman's house.”
“I'm on it. We're working on a search warrant, but right now the evidence pointing to Pickler is flimsy.”
“Can we get it to Judge Provost?” He was usually pretty liberal.
“He's away on vacation. They're trying Costantini.”
Grace groaned. “She's a tough nut. What else you got?”
“I went over the reports from the team canvassing the neighborhood. The other neighbors seem to like the Greens, or at least what they know of them. An older man who lives alone said that Chelsea and Leo have made great improvements to their house. That stretch of mini hedges out front was a barren mass of mud and weeds until they moved there. There's a family with three kids—Rosanne and Rick Brunner. A firefighter and a stay-at-home mom who's very active in the schools. She's heard the Green baby outside, too. Heard her crying from her stroller. She said her heart goes out to the young mother; her kids were colicky, too. And there's a family with five kids that's kind of interesting—name is Jarvis. Apparently, two of the kids aren't supposed to be in this country. Their father has custody back in Brazil. Mom's remarried and she snatched the kids, brought them here.”
Grace winced. “A baby snatcher in the neighborhood. We'll be talking to her. Although the custody issue with Brazil, that sounds like more of an immigration issue.”
“But you never know who your neighbors are.”
“That's the thing. These days, so many people don't even know their neighbors,” Grace said. “When I was a kid, we knew everyone on the block. All the kids played stickball together.”
“Yeah, yeah. Back in the Bronx in the good old days.”
“Yeah, I'm so old. Slow the horse down. This is the street.”
Jennifer Green's new address was a condominium in a complex called Fresh Ponds, though the small fountain circulating green water in the front courtyard wasn't looking so fresh. Housing complexes like this were common; two-story garden apartments had been converted to condos during one of the mad housing crazes in the metro area.
Jennifer lived in a downstairs unit, and as Grace and Chris approached, they noticed an infant stroller sitting under the porch awning.
“Well, would you look at that.” Chris gave it a slight push. “She's got wheels for the kid. That's planning ahead.”
Grace pushed the doorbell for the second time, holding her detective shield up to the peephole. “It could belong to the upstairs tenant.”
Just then an infant's wail tore from the apartment.
Chris tapped the stroller handle. “I'd say the owner of this vehicle lives downstairs.”
When no one came to the door, Grace cleared her throat. “Ms. Green? Hello? Ms. Green, I'm Grace Santos and this is Detective Panteleoni. We're police, with Westchester County.” Since they were dealing with a woman, they had decided that Grace would do most of the talking. The dynamic was less intimidating.
A moment later the door opened just a few inches, chain on, and a pale, round face appeared in the crack. “Is there a problem, officers?”
“Ms. Green? We're wondering if we might have a word with you.”
The hazel eyes came close to the opening. “Show me your badges again?”
“And ID,” Chris said approvingly as he held up the leather sleeve with his shield and ID card for her to see. “You're smart to ask for ID.”
“Okay.” The door closed, the chain clicked, and then it opened wide to an overweight young woman with a doughy face and shiny hair down to her waist. The baby's crying was louder with the door open, and Grace had to stifle the urge to shoot past this young woman and tend to the baby. “Is my sister in trouble? She's probably the Ms. Green you're looking for. Jennifer Green.”
“And you are?”
“Kylie Swanson, Jennifer's sister. She's been staying here for the past few weeks. Just till she finds a place of her own. Is she in trouble?”
Grace dodged the question. “Ms. Swanson, do you mind if we come in?”
Kylie looked behind her, her face crimping. “It's kind of a mess, but okay. I have to get him or he'll never stop crying.” The young woman turned away from the open door, and the two detectives followed her inside.
Chris shut the door behind them while Grace followed behind Kylie Swanson, who pulled her voluminous green shirt down in the back to cover her black stretch pants. Maternity pants. The weight wasn't so much overall fat as baby weight, all through the middle.
The baby was sprawled in a bassinet. Red-faced and shaped like a fireplug. Not so bald as Annabelle Green, this little one had a glaze of corn-silk hair—same shade as Kylie Swanson's.
“What a cutie.” Grace smiled as Kylie cradled him in her arms. “Well, that stopped the crying. You have the magic touch. Do you have a lot of experience with babies?”
The young woman shook her head. “He's my first. And picking him up doesn't always settle him down. A lot of times he cries when he needs a diaper change.” She patted his bottom. “Uh-oh. Like now.” Kylie shifted him in her arms so that she could look into his eyes. “Did you do something again, little man?”
“What's his name?” Grace asked.
The baby's name was Conner, and he got a diaper change right then and there as Grace looked on. Yep, that confirmed it. It's a boy, Mr. Swanson.
“We're sorry to bother you, Kylie, but as I mentioned, we're looking for your sister. Do you happen to know where we could find her?”
“She should be at work. She's got a new job at Sparklet. That's why she's staying here.” She snapped a pair of red overalls over Conner's bottom and picked him up. “She's got a sleeping bag in Conner's room, but most mornings when I come out here I find her asleep on the couch.”
BOOK: All She Ever Wanted
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