Part 7 (1/2)
Lewis looked understanding. ”I fought with the Anzac Corps in World War II. My fiancee back home, she ... we were pregnant, though she never told me. I heard about the child-my son-from others once I returned home from the war, but by that time my girl had given him up for adoption. It had all been handled through a lawyer who refused to reveal any of the particulars, other than that the family had immigrated to America. Everyone said I should give up on it and go on with my life. Instead, I came here looking for my son. That was sixty-two years ago, and I'm still looking for him.”
”Sixty-two years,” Wally repeated. It sounded to her like forever.
”There are some government records I have never been able to access, despite the connections I've made over the years. I just know his name is in there somewhere, but ...”
”I'm sorry.”
Lewis nodded. ”Losing him has been the sorrow of my life, Wallis. So I appreciate your sadness and frustration. But I've handled thousands of cases for the society and there is something I have learned. There are worse things than not knowing, my dear. Answering your question might seem like the most important thing in the world, but it is not. If you place your quest ahead of everything else in your life, you will come to regret it.”
Wally thought about this. ”Good speech. Does anyone ever listen?”
”No,” said Lewis, smiling a little at Wally's feistiness. ”By the time people arrive at our door, they are usually h.e.l.l-bent. Nothing can stop them.”
”Like me,” Wally said.
”Like you,” Lewis agreed.
”I'll do this on my own, but I'm not a detective or anything,” Wally said, feeling herself grasping now. ”These resources of yours, can you hook me up with some of those?”
”I'm afraid not,” he answered, firm but sympathetic. ”The situation is this, Wallis: over a long time-more than half a century now-we've helped a great many people, from all walks of life. All professions, all sectors of society. We're a nonprofit organization and don't accept fees for what we do. However, those we have helped often volunteer to become contributors of another kind.”
”Oh,” Wally said, getting it, ”your clients become your sources?”
Lewis nodded. ”We have a.s.sociates inside law enforcement, in the government, the State Department, the judiciary. Intelligence agencies in several countries. Even some in the commercial sector who, in these days of cyber-communities and data mining and so forth, have access to more private information than all the others combined. Those who help us are often taking great risks. They violate laws and oaths and contracts to help in our searches.”
”I see.”
”We a.s.sure complete anonymity to all our sources, obviously. They are like a family to us, really. You understand?”
There was no argument left for Wally to make, and again she fought back her feelings of frustration, determined to show Lewis that this setback would not defeat her. Wally took out a piece of paper and wrote down Benjamin Hatch's name and added, Entrepreneur. Possibly knew Yalena Mayakova in Russia, in the year 1992, or so. She pa.s.sed the note to Lewis.
”You can add this to my file, anyway,” she said, ”in case something else comes up and you can make a connection.”
Lewis took the note and read it. ”I'll do what I can, Wallis. I will review your file as well to see if anything can be updated. We will never stop looking.”
”Neither will I,” Wally said. She walked to the door and Lewis rose from his own chair to show her out. He stayed in the doorway to watch her go, and after a few steps she had a thought and turned back toward him. ”I'm sorry about your son.” She meant it.
He shrugged. ”Get on with other things, Wallis. Choose the life you want. Don't lose yourself in this search.”
Wally just smiled, a little sadly, understanding on some level that Lewis's advice was wise and halfway regretting that she would not be able to follow it.
She shook Lewis's hand and left the office, heading back down the stairs and onto Lexington Avenue. Wally was about to turn the corner on 92nd Street when she glanced back at the building she had just left. In a window upstairs stood Lewis Jordan, teacup still in hand, watching her go. They exchanged small waves, and then Wally turned away, headed for her bus stop.
Late that night, Wally was awakened by the sound of her cell phone vibrating on the floor of the walkway, high above the bank. She stirred and checked the phone's display. It read unknown caller.
”h.e.l.lo?”
”Did you know, Ursula is the patron saint of orphans?” It was Lewis Jordan.
”I didn't know,” Wally answered.
”I believe she is watching over you.”
Join the club, thought Wally.
”That's great, Lewis,” she said. ”I'll take all the help I can get.”
”I shouldn't be sharing information with you, Wally, but it occurs to me that I've been following the rules of this process for fifty years and I am no closer to finding my son. I'm still alone.”
”I really am sorry for that, Lewis.” Wally could hear the frustration and sadness in Lewis's voice, and sensed that he was struggling with a difficult choice. She remained quiet, hoping he would decide in her favor.
”The Benjamin Hatch you're looking for died three years ago in a traffic accident,” said Lewis.
Wally's heart sank. Her best lead for finding Yalena was lost.
”He was survived by two sons from an early marriage,” Lewis continued. ”Robert and Andrew. Their mother died from ovarian cancer when they were very young. The sons live together in their family home now. It's not far away. I tried to reach them, but they did not return my calls, so ...” Lewis coughed. ”By the society's rules, I should not have told you any of this.”
”Thank you so much, Lewis,” Wally said, grateful to him and feeling a rush of excitement that she would have a good lead to follow the next day. ”I promise you won't regret it.”
Wally found a pen and paper in her shoulder bag and Lewis dictated the street address and phone number of the Hatch home, located in a place called Shelter Island.
NINE.
Wally tried the number-with her cell set on speaker phone so the others could listen in-and it rang six times before the line picked up.
”Yes?” came a man's voice on the other end of the line.
”h.e.l.lo. Is this the Hatch home? I'm trying to reach either Andrew or Robert Hatch.”
”This is Andrew.” The voice was impatient.
”Mr. Hatch, my name is Wallis Stoneman. I'm the daughter of a woman named Yalena Mayakova. Does that name mean anything to you?”
After a brief pause, he answered simply, ”No.”
”Are you sure? She's from Russia. I'm fairly sure she had some connection with your father, maybe during the time he was doing business over there?”
There was a long moment of silence on the other end of the line.
”He's gone.”
”Your father? Yes, I know ... I'm very sorry for your loss,” Wally stammered, feeling a twinge of panic as she sensed that Andrew Hatch was ready to hang up on her. ”It's just that I'm trying to locate Yalena, and I was hoping you might have heard your father mention her-”
”We don't know anything about Russia. We have no connection with his business, or any of the Emerson people.”
”I understand, but if there's anything-”