Birthright (39 page)

“I'll go with you.”

“Jake's tagging along. I've got it handled.”

“I'm going with you,” he said again, then shifted aside as Lana nudged through.

“What's this about?”

“I've got some information I need to check out.”

“Are you going?” Lana asked Doug.

“Yeah, I'm going.”

She frowned at her watch. “Let me call Roger, see if he can handle Ty until we get back.”

“What is this ‘we'?” Callie demanded.

“I think it's what you refer to as a team. I'm the legal portion of that team. Let me just make that call, then you can fill me in on the drive.”

“I might end up doing something illegal,” Callie muttered as Lana dug out her cell phone.

Lana tucked her hair behind her ear. “Then you definitely need me along.”

S
he couldn't even manage to take the wheel, and had to settle for sitting shotgun in Jake's SUV instead of her own. To give herself time to sulk in silence, she handed the file back to Doug so he and Lana could read it over in the backseat.

But silence was short as both of them began to pepper her with questions.

“Look, what I know is in there. What I'm going to find out is in Virginia.”

“She's always grumpy when she hasn't had a good night's sleep,” Jake commented. “Right, babe?”

“Just shut up and drive.”

“See?”

“How long was Simpson your mother's doctor?” Lana unearthed a legal pad from her bag and began taking notes.

“I don't know. At least since 1966.”

“And he wasn't married to Barbara Halloway at that time?”

“No, I think that was closer to 1980. He's got a good twenty years on her.”

“And according to your information, she worked at Washington County Hospital from July or August of 'seventy-four until the spring of the following year, and was on the maternity floor when Suzanne Cullen was admitted. In the spring of the following year, she relocated. You don't know where.”

“I'm going to find out where, and you can bet your ass that at some time between spring of 'seventy-five and 'eighty, she spent time in Boston.” She shifted to look into the backseat. “She was still working in Hagerstown when Jessica Cullen was kidnapped. You don't forget something like that. But when we talked to them back in July, it was all news to her. News to both of them, and that doesn't play.”

“It's circumstantial.” Lana continued to write. “But I agree.”

“Circumstantial, my ass. You look at the time line, the focal points, and it's a simple matter to put together a picture of events. Halloway was one of Carlyle's organization. One of his key medical contacts. An OB nurse. She gets word that he's in the market for an infant, preferably female, most likely the order comes in with a basic physical description of the clients, maybe some of their heritage. Suzanne Cullen delivers a baby girl who fits the bill.”

“But they didn't take the baby for over three months,” Doug pointed out.

“Even a desperate couple might get suspicious if they request a child for adoption purposes and have it served up to order immediately. Wait a couple months, make sure the kid stays healthy, doesn't come up with medical problems, take the time to learn and study the family routine, wait for the best opportunity. And pile up additional fees during the waiting period.”

“She'd have been the one to take her,” Doug said quietly. “She'd have been the one in the area, the one with the opportunity to keep tabs on my parents, on us. She'd have had time to learn the mall, how to get out of it fast.”

“Works for me,” Callie agreed. “My parents said a nurse brought me to Carlyle's office.”

“Other factors,” Lana mused. “Jessica was probably not the only candidate. It's more likely at least two or three others were under consideration. If we accept that Barbara Halloway was a point person, there would have been other baby girls born that fit the basic requirements during that period. And it's also likely she wasn't the only plant. There would have been others at different facilities around the country. Jessica was the only infant taken from the area, but Carlyle, from our suppositions, exchanged a number of infants over the course of several years.”

“Every level you go down in a dig you find more data, make more connections, expand the picture,” Jake said. “Halloway's our current find.”

“We dig her up, seal her up and label her,” Callie put in.

“Obviously, she needs to be questioned.” Lana drew several circles around Barbara Halloway's name on her pad. “Even though your information is still largely speculative and circumstantial, I think you have enough pieces to take to the police. Isn't it more likely she'd talk in an official interview with the authorities than to you?”

Callie merely slid her gaze toward Jake, smirked as he slid his toward her.

Noting the exchange, Lana shook her head. “Well, really, what are you going to do? Tie her to a chair and beat it out of her?”

Callie stretched out her legs. Jake drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Doug looked pointedly out the side window.

And Lana finally blew out a long breath. “I don't have enough on me to post bond for multiple charges of assault. Callie.” She boosted forward in the seat. “Let me talk to them. I'm a lawyer. I'm a brilliant talker. I can make it seem as if we know a great deal more than we do. I know how to put the pressure on.”

“You want a shot at her? Be sure to ask her who they sent up to Maryland, and if they even knew Bill McDowell's name when they killed him.”

“Killed him? But I thought he . . . Oh God.” Lana dug frantically in her purse for her phone to check on her son.

“He's all right,” Doug stated as she dialed. “Grandpa won't let anything happen to him.”

“Of course not. I just want to—Roger? No, nothing wrong.” She reached across the seat, relaxing again when Doug's fingers linked with hers.

“I didn't mean to spook you,” Callie said when Lana hung up.

“Yes, you did, but I appreciate it. It's easy to think about this as something that happened years ago and forget the immediacy. You need to go to the police.”

“After we talk to the Simpsons, I'll give Sheriff Hewitt everything I have. For all the good it does.” Noting the joined hands, Callie swiveled farther around. “So, you guys sleeping together yet?”

“Where the hell do you get off asking that?” Doug demanded.

“I'm just trying the sister hat on for size. I didn't have the chance to evolve into it, go through the pest stage and all that. So I'm just jumping in. How's the sex anyway? Good?”

Lana ran her tongue around her teeth. “As a matter of fact—”

“Cut it out.”

“Guys get weirded out when women talk about sex,” Callie commented.

“I don't.” Jake reached over to pat her hip.

“You're an aberration. But Graystone here's really good in bed.”

“I don't want to hear about it,” Doug said.

“I'm talking to Lana. You know how some guys are mainly good at one thing? Like maybe they're a good kisser, but they've got hands like a fish or the endurance of a ninety-year-old asthmatic?”

“I do. Yes, I certainly do.” Lana capped her pen, put it back in her bag.

“Well, Graystone, he's got all the moves. Great lips. And, you know, he does these little magic tricks, sleight-of-hand stuff. He's got really creative hands. It almost makes up for his numerous flaws and irritating qualities.”

Lana leaned forward, lowered her voice. “Doug has reading glasses. Horn-rims.”

“No kidding? Horn-rims kill me. You got them on you?” She reached back, pushed at Doug's knee and got nothing but a withering stare in return. “Starting to think it wasn't such a bad thing when somebody grabbed me out of that stroller, huh?”

“I'm wondering how I can talk them into kidnapping you again.”

“I'd just find my way back now. You're awful quiet, Graystone.”

“Just enjoying watching you needle somebody besides me for a change. Almost there, Doug.”

“Just remember I'm in charge,” Callie said when Jake got off at the exit. “You three are just backup.”

“Now she's Kinsey Milhone,” Doug grumbled.

She felt more like Sigourney Weaver's character from
Aliens.
She wanted to slash and burn. But she strapped her rage down as Jake pulled in the driveway. Temper wasn't going to blind her.

She climbed out of the car, walked to the front door, pressed the bell.

She heard nothing but the late-summer twitter of birds and the low drone of a lawn mower from somewhere up the street.

“Let me check the garage.” Jake walked off while Callie pressed the doorbell again.

“They could be out, Sunday lunch, tennis game,” Lana suggested.

“No. They know what's going on. They know I've been talking to people who might remember Barbara. They're not sipping mimosas and playing doubles at the club.”

“Garage is empty,” Jake reported.

“So we'll break in.”

“Hold it, hold it.” Doug put a restraining hand on Callie's shoulder. “Even if we toss out the downside of daytime breaking and entering, a place like this is going to have an alarm system. You break a window, bust down a door, the cops are going to be here before you can find anything. If there's anything to find in the first place.”

“Don't be logical. I'm pissed.”

She slapped a fist on the door. “They couldn't have known I was coming. Not this fast.”

“One step at a time. Doug's got a point about the neighborhood.” Jake scanned the houses across the street. “Upscale, secure. But a village is a village, and there's always a gossipmonger. Somebody who makes it his or her business to know what everyone else is up to. We fan out, knock on some doors and politely ask after our friends the Simpsons.”

“Okay.” Callie reined herself in. “We'll go in couples. Couples are less intimidating. Jake and I'll take the south side, Doug and Lana, you take the north. What time is it?”

She studied her watch as she ran ideas around in her head. “Okay, timing's a little off, but it'll do. We were supposed to drop by for drinks with Barb and Hank. Now we're worried we've got the wrong day or that something's wrong.”

“It'll do in a pinch.” Jake took her hand, linked fingers when she tugged. “We're a couple, remember. A nice, harmless, unintimidating couple concerned about our friends Barb and Hank.”

“Anybody believes you're harmless, they're deaf, dumb and blind.”

Lana and Doug started off in the opposite direction. “They don't act divorced to me,” he said.

“Really? What's your definition of ‘acting divorced'?”

“Not like that. I watched them putting breakfast together. It was like choreography. And you saw how they were in the car. They can let each other know what they're thinking without saying a word, when they want to.”

“Like when Callie distracted us from worrying by tormenting you?”

“He knew exactly what she was doing. I don't know what the deal is between them, but I'm glad he's around. He'll look out for her.”

He pressed the bell on the first house.

By the time Jake rang the bell on their third stop, they had their story and routine down smooth as velvet frosting. The woman answered so quickly, he knew she'd watched their progress from house to house.

“I'm sorry to bother you, ma'am, but my wife and I were wondering about the Simpsons.”

“I'm sure we just have the wrong day, honey.” But Callie glanced back with a distracted air of concern at the Simpson house.

“I just want to be sure everything's okay. We were supposed to drop by for drinks,” he said to the woman. “But they don't answer the bell.”

“All four of you having drinks with the Simpsons?”

“Yes,” Jake confirmed without missing a beat, and smiled. So she'd been watching the house. “My brother-in-law and his fiancée walked up that way to see if anyone could help us.”

“My brother and I are old family friends of Hank and Barb's.” Callie picked up the angle on Jake's story as if it were God's truth. “That is, my parents and Dr. Simpson go way back. He delivered my brother and me. Our father's a doctor, too. Anyway, my brother just got engaged. That's actually why we were coming by for drinks. Just a little celebration.”

“I don't see how you're going to celebrate when they're out of town.”

Callie's hand tightened on Jake's. “Out of town? But . . . for heaven's sake. We
have
to have the wrong day,” she said to Jake. “But they didn't mention a trip when I talked to them a couple weeks ago.”

“Spur of the moment,” the woman provided. “What did you say your name was?”

“I'm terribly sorry.” Callie offered a hand. “We're the Bradys, Mike and Carol. We don't mean to trouble you, Mrs. . . .”

“Fissel. No trouble. Didn't I see the two of you over at the Simpsons a while back?”

“Yes, earlier this summer. We've just moved back east. It's nice to catch up with old friends, isn't it? You said spur of the moment. It wasn't an emergency, was it? Oh, Mike, I hope nothing's happened to—” What the hell was the daughter's name? “Angela.”

“They said it wasn't.” Mrs. Fissel stepped out on the front patio. “I happened to see them loading up the cars when I came out to get the morning paper. We look out for our neighbors here, so I walked over and asked if anything was wrong. Dr. Simpson said they'd decided to drive up to their place in the Hamptons, spend a few weeks. Seemed strange to me, them taking both cars. He said Barbara wanted to have her own. Took enough luggage for a year, if you ask me. But that Barbara, she likes her clothes. Not like her to forget you were coming. She doesn't miss a trick.”