Amber Alert, page 16
The answer is simple. If I was, I wouldn’t be tempted right now. Life isn’t always about being happy though.
“It’s not that easy.”
“Actually, I think it’s very easy.”
He leans forward, and in a perfect world I would get up and ask him to leave. I do, eventually, after the kiss that leaves me breathless. Damn, this is so much better when I’m not about to fall asleep.
“You don’t mean it.”
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is the point here, Ann, because I think I might have missed it?”
I sit back down, uncomfortably aware that he has a legit question. I don’t have much talking room here. Playing it safe didn’t work. How am I going to explain myself when I don’t even have the answers?
“I can’t do this unless I have sorted some things out.”
“With your boyfriend.”
There’s no scorn to his words, just genuine interest. My lack of an answer is as good as one. What can I tell him? I care about him, and maybe I could take a good look at what else is there, if I wasn’t so preoccupied with my job and an ill-fated affair.
“Among other things. The case isn’t solved yet.”
“We’re not on it anymore,” Joey reminds me. He reaches out to take my hand, and I can’t deny it feels good to have somebody’s undivided attention. I doubt that I deserve it at this moment.
“I know what I said before, and I wanted to give you that time,” he says. “I just don’t do so well on the sidelines. What if this is ‘it’?”
“Joey. You barely know me.”
“Does it matter?”
He’s serious about this which isn’t necessarily a good thing. If I, if we go there, the bubble I’ve lived in the past four years will burst, and I don’t know if I’m ready for that. I retrieve my hand, leaning back, wondering what the right thing to do is.
“Dawson is leaving at the end of the month. That would leave Jack without a partner.”
“Can I stay with you?” Joey asks, and I can’t help but smile. He’s going right for all the tough questions, like a good detective should.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Rosie has settled back into her small and familiar world pretty well, except she doesn’t like her hair being washed. It’s the mildest baby shampoo they could find in the aisle of the pharmacy. Rachel has even phoned their doctor in need of answers. Chrissie wonders if they could contact the FBI doctor who examined Rosie right after they found her, or even Joan Winters, but the family doctor assures her and Rachel the shampoo is not the problem.
The kidnappers dyed Rosie’s hair. Even though it could have been so much worse, the thought enrages Chrissie. For a baby who doesn’t know what’s happening to them, it had to have been terrible. You don’t use a chemical product like this on a two-year-old child—unless you indeed don’t care. They wanted to alter her looks, to make sure no one would suspect any wrongdoing.
The hair situation makes the evenings longer and more difficult, but all of this melts away when she can watch her daughter sleep, knowing that she’s back with them, alive and well. Chrissie and Rachel let her sleep with them for the days after the abduction, to be close in case of nightmares. Rosie seems to sleep well. The grown-up nightmares are eased by this temporary solution too. Rachel is the one in charge of singing a lullaby, and Rosie has her ritual of saying goodnight to everybody, present or not.
To Chrissie’s chagrin, Joan and Lloyd are still on the list, and somebody named…she doesn’t exactly understand the name, Katie or something, probably a girl in the daycare center.
Rosie hasn’t been back yet. It’s going to be another hurdle, seeing her go to the place where the nightmare began. On the bright side, the staff will probably be extra vigilant.
“This is the first time that Ann brought someone here,” Rachel muses, distracting Chrissie from her own thoughts.
“Since the FBI guy.”
“What do you mean? They are working together.”
“Not just that, I think.”
“Davis? No way!” Rachel slaps her hand against her mouth, but Rosie hasn’t stirred, still deep in her dreamland.
“Yes, way.” Granted, with Rosie missing, Chrissie didn’t pay a lot of attention, but she hasn’t missed the body language cues. She assumes that the same is true for the police department as it is for the university—dating someone from work is a bad idea, but most people are doing it anyway.
For her, there was always Rachel even before she started her first real job.
“How can you tell?” Rachel wonders.
“Like you said, Ann doesn’t bring anybody home all that often.” Special Agent Davis had made a brief appearance during a Thanksgiving dinner, he and Ann speaking in the hallway in hushed tones. Later that evening, Ann had a long conversation with their mother in the kitchen.
It was about work, no one was formally introduced, but Chrissie remembers him. Ann probably still thinks she doesn’t know. She has a tendency to underestimate Chrissie’s observation skills. There’s the memory of a shouting match when they were sixteen and eighteen, and Ann accused her of living in her “perfect little lesbian world” apparently without any of the drama-filled events in a straight teenager’s life.
Just because Chrissie doesn’t attract trouble in relationships like Ann does, it doesn’t mean she’s not paying attention, and what she sees, worries her. Still, like their mom had said, they could only take responsibility for their own lives.
As for Joey Parker, he’s likeable, easy-going, good with kids—also a good deal younger, and Ann’s partner at the department. Granted, Chrissie hasn’t much of an idea about the works of such a relationship outside from TV, but she assumes that complicates things.
“They make a cute couple, in any case.” Rachel yawns, snuggling deeper under the covers. “It’s good to see everything go back to normal.” The latter, she says with some hesitation as if waiting for Chrissie to confirm her assessment.
“Yes it is.”
Chrissie leans over for a quick kiss, mindful of their sleeping daughter, then she settles back on her own pillow.
They are safe.
Never again she will take a moment of this for granted. Somewhere in the city, there are still families living in pain and fear, with the burning question of what happened to their child.
* * * *
Sometimes, doing the right thing, or even what you think the right thing is, can lead to confusing results. It feels good waking up to the feel and warmth of a close embrace, but that feeling usually comes with a certain prologue. Not quite awake yet, I wander through the memory of last night, when we talked, reaching no definite conclusion. Sleeping in the same bed, resisting the lure of intimacy, who were we kidding? Whom does it even serve?
The ring of the telephone jolts me awake. It’s still dark in the apartment, the curtains closed as I stumble to pick it up, cursing as I stub my toe in the process.
“Turn on the TV,” Cal says, foregoing any greeting.
“Why? What’s going on?”
I imagine the guilt is just seeping from my voice. This is getting too complicated.
“Just do it.”
In the living room, I turn on the TV, trying to get my bearings as he explains, “Go to the morning show, the one that featured your sister. This morning, Roger Middleton will tell the world about all the things he’s been wrongfully accused of.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me…” I stop, startled to see Chrissie on my TV screen, her desperate plea to the kidnapper. They are showing the segment to introduce Middleton, a voiceover by the moderator alleging that the investigators have no idea what they’re doing.
“Today with me is Mr. Roger Middleton, owner of the Middleton Family Institute that was recently investigated by the FBI. Can you tell us anything about the allegations against you?”
I saw a picture of him on the website. At first glance, there’s nothing extraordinary about him. Average height, middle-aged, receding hairline, glasses. When he speaks, I’m startled by his soft, but commanding tone. I’ve met the type before—at best, they can be a motivational speaker, at their worst, a cult leader.
“We’ve been the target of an investigation, that is true, but I’ll have you and the viewers know that these accusations are false. We pray for the families of the missing children, but no employee of the institute has done anything wrong. We reunite families, we don’t break them up.”
“I see,” the moderator says. “We all know you’re working hard on this, and many families around the country are grateful for your efforts.”
I roll my eyes at her.
“The reason why the police became interested in the institute also had to do with policies of yours that some see as controversial, especially considering the circumstances of this particular adoption. The child is back with a lesbian couple, one of which is the birthmother. Would it be fair to say you’d consider the foster parents, a married man and woman, the better alternative for the girl?”
He schools his features into a sad and pained expression, and I feel sick before he even opens his mouth.
“Jerk,” I mutter, and Joey, who walks inside, handing me a coffee, is giving me a quizzical look.
“Milk and sugar,” he says.
“Well-trained,” Cal who has overheard Joey’s words on the other end of the line, comments. “I won’t even make any puppy jokes, as I know you’re offended by them. You two got an early start.”
“Could you please let me watch this?”
“—for any pain we caused the family. Joan and Lloyd Winters were approved as foster parents, and you can be sure that we have very strict criteria for the families we choose. It’s sad that this child had to go back to a life where she’ll be exposed to an unhealthy lifestyle.” His tone is warm and calm, and the moderator makes no attempt to contradict his lies. I wish I could shake her—and him.
“Your stance on the subject of gay marriage and adoption is very clear,” she says, “but would you support the idea of removing children from such households?”
“Absolutely,” he says with a conviction that feels chilling to me. “Obviously, the law is not always on our side, but that’s why we must work harder to make it so. We need precedence, lawsuits, going to the highest court to make sure that our children are protected.”
Joey stands by the couch but doesn’t make any move to sit down. On the other end of the line, Cal is silent as well, as we listen to one man’s dangerous delusions that hopefully never come true. We can’t be too vigilant. He already has a platform on a national TV channel.
“In the meantime, what about the children who already live in these families?” the moderator asks. “If someone broke the law on the same principles you mention, what’s your opinion about that?”
“I can’t speak for anyone else.” Middleton’s stance is comfortable and relaxed. He knows we can’t get to him right now, and he’s too clever to openly condone a crime—even though he does it between the lines, all the same. “We work through education. Everyone must follow their conscience, and like I said, the law doesn’t always go far enough. In fact, we’ve come to a situation where an individual’s dysfunctional choices are valued more than an innocent life. We rob children of the existential experience that makes you fully human, growing up with their mother and father. We will see the destructive consequences of that—and with regard to your question, what can be more rewarding than saving a child’s life? Wouldn’t you be ready to risk everything? God’s word is clear on that. We can’t just stand by.”
The show cuts to a commercial. I inhale deeply.
“What a bunch of—” My voice is shaky. I blink, not much surprised to feel my vision blur. The vehemence with which some people cling to their ignorance is maddening. Those aren’t some harmless stereotypes that are easily corrected. When clever manipulators like Middleton start meddling with courts and politics, they can screw up things for generations to come.
“Yeah,” Cal agrees. “We might get a lucky break with him soon though. Can you come in?”
“Wait, you let me watch this stuff to tell me you have something on him?”
“Not over the phone. Don’t tell anyone. I’ll see you later.”
He hangs up before I can say anything else, so I make a face at the phone. I put the thoughtfully prepared coffee on the table, having lost my appetite for it. This is good news. If we can get to Middleton, does that mean we can bring home all the other children, Kevin, Lin, the Tyler’s baby?
“We have to go to work,” I tell Joey. He just nods and picks up the coffee to dispose of it, the gesture oddly engaging. I’m relieved that I can put off the decision a little while longer.
* * * *
At the department, Special Agent Martinez greets me and shows me to an office that has been chosen for the meeting. She puts the stack of files on the desk and indicates for me to sit down.
“Cal will be with us in a few minutes,” she says.
“This is not for the complete task force?”
“Just us for the moment. I’m getting some coffee, would you like one?”
“Sure,” I say automatically, baffled with the turn of events. This is odd. If Cal thinks that there’s a new lead on Middleton, why isn’t everybody on that right now—or are they? What’s with him changing his mind about me being in the loop? Not that I mind, if it helps bringing down a dangerous polemist.
Those files are taunting me. I assume that Cal is going to tell me what’s in them, but with him, I can’t be sure, especially if—My cheeks heat at the memory of this morning’s events. Not that he has much room to argue, but I’m pretty sure Cal wouldn’t approve of Joey staying overnight.
Assured that Martinez is busy with the vending machine on the other end of the hallway, I pick up the first one and leaf through it. The content is as expected, Middleton’s records, cop homework. Where’s the big break in this?
On a page showing phone records, there’s a number circled in red. It’s from the day we went to bring Rosie home. My heart skips a beat when I read the digits one by one. This can’t be true.
I take out my cell phone and check the numbers once more.
They match.
There are several red circles, phone calls made from and to the Middleton institute.
“Damn it!” I say out loud.
“I see you already found what we’re going to talk about,” Cal says, drawing the door closed behind him. Martinez is not with him, for which I’m grateful.
“You knew all the time and you didn’t tell me?”
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t. We still don’t have all the evidence we need, but we’re getting closer.”
“You knew!” I still can’t believe it.
“We suspected that there could be a source in the department, but it became pretty clear when we looked at those phone records after the Middletons had time to clean up their house for us.”
I thought after that morning TV, my day couldn’t get worse, but I’ve been sadly mistaken. This means they kept information from me, from day one…but you didn’t have to sleep with him, a nasty little inner voice reminds me.
“Since you know so much more than I do, what’s his deal?”
“‘Traditional’ family values?” Cal shrugs. “The sister went to work for the institute right out of college. The parents support the ‘marriage is between a man and a woman’ line, younger brother got into trouble for bullying a gay classmate. Hard to overcome the habits of a lifetime.”
“Oh God.” I can’t help it. Maybe I deserve all of this indeed, for cheating on my married lover. “What’s the game plan here?”
“We wait,” Cal says, laying a hand on my shoulder. “I’m sure you heard about the transfer. If he’s going back to his hometown, that probably means something’s about to happen. I’m sorry. I know you liked him.”
“You have no idea!” Backing out of the touch, I get up to face him. “You’re saying that all the time he probably knew where Rosie was, and the other kids? You just let me—oh for Christ’s sake, what are you even still waiting for?”
“We don’t know for sure.”
“You should have told me you were suspecting Joey!” I cover my mouth with my hand, an instinctive gesture to try and stop myself before I say something I could regret. All this talk about wanting to stay in town, because of me…I’ve been well played, by people I trusted most. “What is this about anyway?”
“Something’s about to go down soon. I didn’t want you to be totally blindsided.”
“Well, congratulations, that went well.”
“You know you can’t talk about this, to anyone, not even your boss.”
I shake my head, not so much at his words, but at my own naiveté.
“Don’t worry, the lieutenant is used to you and me keeping secrets. Like your wife, kinda.”
“This is not the moment.”
“All right, when will be a good moment? After you stop your little observation game and try to find those children?”
“When we do, you’ll be the first one to know, I promise you. Look, I know this is a shock, but I need you to understand something here. These kinds of groups are not your regular dumb bullies. They have money behind them, and they influence a great deal of people, so we have to be careful, or we’ll never know where these children are.”
I feel shamed by the knowledge that I might have contributed to this mess, which makes me angry. I could have avoided all of this if I’d known…
“This wasn’t a judgment of your skills as a cop,” Cal says. “You know that, right?”
I’m not sure what I know anymore.
“I missed you these past days.” He gets up to follow me to the door, his look questioning, hopeful. I feel terrible, and it’s hard to pinpoint just one reason. I wish we could go back to the days when we knew exactly where we stood with each other, no second-guessing, no trust issues. He embraces me, placing a soft kiss to my neck. “Can I see you tonight?”
