Read All She Ever Wanted Online
Authors: Rosalind Noonan
All She Ever Wanted (24 page)
Chapter 32
T
he buzzing sound drew Grace's gaze away from the birth certificate on the monitor. She pushed away from her desk, turned off the alarm, and put a call through to Matt. Long-distance parenting was never ideal, but with technology there were still ways to stay in touch. She usually made a point of giving him a wake-up call on mornings when she couldn't be with him, and Matt had enjoyed Skyping last summer when he'd gone on an extended trip with his father.
he buzzing sound drew Grace's gaze away from the birth certificate on the monitor. She pushed away from her desk, turned off the alarm, and put a call through to Matt. Long-distance parenting was never ideal, but with technology there were still ways to stay in touch. She usually made a point of giving him a wake-up call on mornings when she couldn't be with him, and Matt had enjoyed Skyping last summer when he'd gone on an extended trip with his father.
“Good morning,” she said. “How'd everything go last night?”
“Good.” He yawned. “Ethan's dad made spaghetti sauce with turkey.”
“How was that?”
“Pretty good. You'd never guess it was different.” Matt paused. “Mom? Did you go to sleep at all last night?”
“I dozed off for a while, but no, I didn't go home to bed.”
“So you didn't find the baby yet?”
She spun her chair back toward her desk. “Not yet, but we will.” She had to believe that was true, though there was no denying the discouragement she felt every time a new lead was snuffed out. The ex-wife, the sitter's boyfriend . . . they had seemed like strong suspects in the moment.
“Do you think you'll find the baby by this weekend?” Matt asked. “I mean, what'll I do if you have to work?”
“This is your weekend with your dad.” For once, Steve's weekend had coincided with the demands on Grace's life.
“Oh, yeah.”
“And Dad said to tell you he got the tickets.” Often Matt had to be cajoled into spending time with his father, but Steve had told her Matt would be psyched about this weekend. “What kind of tickets?”
“Hockey! Dad got the Rangers tickets. He said he would.”
The joy in Matt's voice soothed Grace's worries for the weekend. Glancing at the photo of Matt on her desk, Grace remembered how he would twist and shriek in her arms.
Not a happy baby.
Those had been dark days . . . uneventful except for the anguish of trying to soothe the baby writhing in her arms, and the reminder in the mirror, in the mail, and in her empty bed that her life was over.
Twelve years ago, when Grace had suffered the same depression that Chelsea was going through, no one really had a name for it. It went untreated until it wound down on its own two years later. When the dust settled, Grace was a single parent, behind on her bills, and missing her husband, who had been driven away by her insanity. PPD had cost her a marriage, and despite the knowledge that it wasn't her fault, she still felt a twinge of guilt over alienating Steve when she went “all kinds of crazy.”
Chelsea Maynard was fortunate that her husband seemed to be in it for the long haul.
She ended the call with Matt and turned back to the birth certificate on her monitor. It showed a child bornâAnthony Zikaâto Eleni Zika, a year ago. The mother's birth date showed that she'd been sixteen when the baby was born.
“I got you a decaf.” Chris put a paper coffee cup on her desk. “I know that caffeine keeps you up all night. Oops . . . you were up all night.”
“Thanks. And you got a call while you were gone. Jay Leno wants to know if you'll take the
Tonight Show,
since no one is as funny as you.”
Tonight Show,
since no one is as funny as you.”
“Ouch. Stabbing humor at this sick hour of the morning.” He nodded at the computer screen. “What you got?”
She told him about the birth certificate. “She was barely sixteen when she got pregnantâjust a kid herself. No father listed.”
“Do you think Krispy was the father?” Chris blinked. “Hold on. Did they sell that baby?”
She shook her head. “I found adoption records that match. A private adoption, straightforward and legal.”
“Okay. Where does that leave us?”
Grace warmed her hands on the coffee cup. “I feel for Eleni, but I also wonder if the girl still longs for her baby. Does she regret giving him up for adoption? Would she be desperate enough to steal Annabelle to try and replace what she lost?”
“But we checked her pedigree. The girl lives at home . . . where is she keeping the baby?”
She shrugged. “I haven't gotten that far, and maybe it's a dead end. It's just another thing that's got to be checked out.”
He nodded. “And the boyfriend, Krispy Kritter, he seemed clueless.”
“Right. If Eleni Zika took Annabelle, I doubt Krispy was involved.”
Just then her cell buzzed and she glanced at the caller ID. “Chelsea and Leo,” she told Chris as she picked up the phone. “Good morning.”
“Louise Pickler is digging a hole in her backyard,” Chelsea said breathlessly. “A big hole. She won't talk to us and she won't let Leo come into the yard. She's got a box there that she . . . she's trying to bury something.”
Grace winced. Judge Costantini wouldn't sign the search warrant, and now this. “Hold tight. We'll be right there.”
“But you said the judge wouldn't sign the search warrant.”
“Things have changed. The digging could be construed as suspicious behavior.” Grace grabbed her jacket as Chris tossed his empty cup into the trash. Some judge wouldn't be happy about getting called out of bed, but they would get their warrant.
While Chris drove, Grace made the calls.
The first call was to her boss, Sgt. Bruce Hopkins, who understood the urgency. “We'll get two uniforms over to the Pickler residence,” he said. “I gotta ask, this woman's digging now, with the ground frozen? She must be using a pickax.” He was sending over someone from the canine unit to help with the search. Next Grace called the prosecutor's office to request the warrant be run by another judge in light of the new evidence. The assistant prosecutor wasn't sure of the outcome, but she promised to get the search warrant before a judge, “even if I have to drive it over to some judge's house with a latte.” Grace knew that a verbal okay was enough to start searching.
They arrived to find Chelsea, Leo, and the uniforms standing in Louise Pickler's side yard. One cop kept watch while the other spoke to Louise over the wooden fence.
“Where's our warrant?” Chris asked as he cut the engine.
“Any minute. At least she's communicating with them.” Grace got out of the car and flew across the lawn.
“She won't let anyone in,” Chelsea said, tugging on the sleeves of her hoodie.
“Why isn't anyone breaking through the gate?” Leo demanded. “Any of us could hop over the fence. We need to stop her.”
“Please.” Grace held up her hands in an attempt to calm him.
“Don't you dare tamper with my property, Leo Green!” Louise shouted from the other side of the fence.
“What about the search warrant?” Chelsea asked.
“We don't have it yet,” Grace told her. “We really need to try to deal with this, and I have to ask you to move back. Wait inside.”
“Tell the persecuting attorney to back off!” Louise barked.
Leo was shaking his head, but Grace insisted. “Please. I know you want us to make progress here.” She lowered her voice. “She's highly agitated.”
Chelsea pressed the cuffs of her sweatshirt to her face, nodding. She touched her husband's arm and gave him a tug. Reluctantly, Leo backed off, too.
“I'm one of the good guys,” Louise lamented. “One of the true American heroes, like George Washington and Elvis. I cannot tell a lie.”
One of the cops cracked a grin, but he was turned away so that Pickler couldn't see.
“Ms. Pickler?” Grace called. “Louise? It's Detective Santos. We talked briefly yesterday.” She leaned close to the fence, trying to peer through the narrow slits. “We would really appreciate it if you'd open the gate and come talk to us.”
“Talk is cheap, and so are you,” Pickler responded. “Where'd that cop go? The good-looking black dude in the uniform?”
So much for female bonding,
Grace thought.
Grace thought.
“I'm right here, ma'am.” Jefferson stepped up to the fence again. “Like I said, we don't mean to inconvenience you, but it would help our investigation if you would let us come into your yard and look around.”
That's it,
Grace thought, impressed with the officer's approach.
Grace thought, impressed with the officer's approach.
“No, no, not gonna happen,” Louise said in a singsong voice. “In fact, you shouldn't even be standing on my lawn. If you don't watch it, I'll call the FDA and the FCC.”
Grace shot a look behind her at Chris, who grinned in a mixture of amusement and bewilderment. They'd dealt with emotionally disturbed persons, but it wasn't often that they came wrapped up in such a colorful facade.
Jefferson turned away from the fence and shrugged in defeat as Grace's phone buzzed. She answered, got the message from the prosecutor's office, and nodded.
“That's it. We got the warrant.”
The two cops straightened and went to either side of the fence. Everyone knew the procedure: knock and announce. The police had to knock on the door and announce themselves. This often meant giving a resident time to pull on some clothes or get down the stairs in the dark. In a case when the police needed the element of surprise, like a drug bust in which the resident could be flushing evidence down the toilet, knock and announce could be suspended. But Ms. Pickler deserved a formal warning.
“Ms. Pickler?” Grace called, knocking on the gate with her knuckles. “The police have a warrant to search your home. It would be helpful if you would open the gate and cooperate with us.”
Silence. Then, in a quiet voice, Louise said, “Go away.”
“That's it. She's denying us entry.” Chris gestured toward the door. “We can go in.”
“Ms. Pickler,” Jefferson said, “we're coming in.”
The gate swung open, and behind it, Louise Pickler stood holding her shivering little dog. Her hands were red and chafed, her face solemn. “Do I get to sit in the police car?” she asked quietly.
Jefferson squinted at the woman, but Grace nodded. “Sure, you do. It's a lot warmer in there. I'll get you set up.” She reached for Pickler, but the woman stepped toward Jefferson. “Uh-uh. I'm going with Fresh Prince.”
As Louise Pickler headed toward the street with Jefferson, Grace followed Chris and the other patrolman into Pickler's backyard.
Even from the gate, the mound of dark dirt in the corner of the yard was obvious. Rich and dark as coffee grounds, it rose up at least a foot above the rest of the lawn.
Grace probed it with the toe of her boot. “Looks like potting soil, and it's not very well packed.”
“Looks like she tried to dig in a few places, but couldn't break through the frozen ground,” Connors said, circling a few spots in the lawn that were hacked bald, the dirt a silvery shade of gray.
Chris spotted tools by the back porch: a shovel, spade, hammer, and an ice pick.
“An ice pick.” Chris shook his head. “I've never tried to dig with one of those. I guess she wasn't going to let the frozen earth stop her.”
“So what do you think?” Connors stood staring at the dark mound of dirt. “Should we wait for forensics?”
“With an infant missing next door?” Grace went to the porch for tools. “Time is of the essence. If there's a baby under there, we need to get her out. Can you get some quick photos before I start brushing away at the dirt?”
Quickly, Chris and Connors both took pictures with their cell phones. Holding a spade, Grace squatted down beside the pile of dirt. How could she stick a shovel into the mound if Annabelle was truly in there? Thinking of the films she'd seen of archeologists on a dig, she tossed the spade aside and used her hands to wipe away the top layer of loose soil.
The soil was cold, but the chunks of black dirt were easily swept away.
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