Part 31 (1/2)
I said, ”Okay, take it down a notch. She's already spooked and you don't want to push her into full-blown panic.”
Jack took over. ”Like I said, it's a routine check only. Private adoption can be a very tricky area, Mrs. Keyes, and we have to be absolutely certain no one from the birth mothers to the agency to the prospective parents misuses the system.”
”Prospective parents? You think we we misused the system?” misused the system?”
”At the moment, our investigation focuses entirely on the Byrony Agency.”
In the moment of silence that followed, I could picture Leslie, looking from one ”agent” to the other, not believing their ”routine check” line. That was fine. We didn't want her to.
Quinn and Jack took turns asking about her ex perience with the agency. Most of the questions were mundane how much advance notice was she given before the home visits, did she have any difficulty understanding the forms. But every now and then they'd toss in a zinger like, ”Did anyone ever offer you additional services for an additional fee?” before swinging back to the general queries.
After ten minutes, I swore I could hear her heart pounding against her ribs. Then, as they reached the end, I did did hear a sound the distant fussing of a baby. hear a sound the distant fussing of a baby.
”Ignore it,” I said quickly. ”Unless the baby starts crying, pretend you don't hear anything. If it's Destiny, she'll fuss for a while before wailing. Finish up and get out of there. If she cries, you'll have to call Keyes on it, and I'd rather you didn't.”
As Quinn finished the questions, Jack asked to use the washroom. In the silence that followed, you'd think he'd just demanded permission to conduct a full search of the premises.
”There's one right here on the main level,” she said finally.
A low chuckle. ”In a house this big, I hope so.”
A few fl.u.s.tered words. Obviously, she'd mistaken Jack's request for a ploy to go upstairs, maybe investigate the gurgling and whimpering. That wasn't his intent at all. He just wanted to lay a bug.
While Jack was gone, Quinn asked the final questions, then chatted with Leslie, saying it seemed like a nice neighborhood, a great place to raise kids, he hoped that worked out for her and her husband... All benign small talk, but the woman was probably convinced she heard a note of sarcasm behind his words, that he knew she already had a child.
When Jack returned, she bustled them to the door.
”Oh, I left a card on the table,” Jack said. ”In case you need to contact us.”
She thanked him and hurried them outside. By the time she realized the card wasn't on any table, they'd be gone.
The guys drove over and parked near me at the minimart. Quinn hopped in my pa.s.senger side, as Jack made his way, at half the speed, from their car to mine, across the minimart parking lot.
”Has she ?” he began.
I motioned Quinn to silence, nodded, and turned up the volume as Leslie took that critical next step placing a call to her husband. Jack hadn't had time to bug the phone, so we were limited to her side of the conversation. First came the rush of words, as she explained the visit from ”the FBI”... having apparently completely blocked everything after the words ”federal.”
”They found Miranda's rattle and I know I shouldn't have lied we have the papers but I wasn't taking the chance, Ken. I won't lose her ”
A moment's pause.
”I'm not panicking,” she snarled, sounding a lot less fl.u.s.tered than she had with Jack and Quinn, her protective instinct taking over. ”They asked a lot of questions about the Byrony Agency, like whether they'd offered us anything different or special, but they didn't specifically say ”
A sharp intake of breath as he presumably cut her short.
”d.a.m.n it. Right. Okay I'll meet you ”
Pause.
”I'll be right there.”
A click as the phone returned to the cradle.
”He told her to shut her mouth,” Quinn said. ”Prob a bly thinks the phone's bugged.”
Jack watched the house through binoculars as we listened to footsteps pattering up the stairs, a baby crying, then Leslie quieting her as she came back down.
More noise, then the slam of the front door.
”Who's got the most experience tailing?” I asked.
”Probably Quinn,” Jack said. ”Switch.”
We hoped Leslie was heading to see whoever had sold her the baby. Instead, she drove to an Applebee's down the road and met a man, presumably her husband, who hugged her and took the baby carrier. They went inside. Talking in a public place. Smart.
”Too bad we couldn't get a bug into her purse,” I said.
”Did,” Jack said. ”But she left it behind.”
Leslie carried only a diaper bag probably having been too rushed to grab her purse. d.a.m.n.
I followed them inside, hoping to get a seat near enough to overhear their conversation. No such luck. Though it was still early for dinner, the place was filling fast.
I did manage to walk near the table, after Leslie had taken the baby from her snowsuit and hat. If asked earlier, I'd have said I'd never recognize Destiny all babies looked the same to me. But the moment I saw that baby I knew, without a doubt, that Miranda Keyes was Destiny Ernst.
I retreated to the car, where we waited for close to two hours before the Keyeses finally emerged, hand in hand, Kenneth carrying the baby seat.
”Did he convince her she's overreacting?” I murmured. ”Or that he'll take care of it?”
”Could go either way,” Quinn said.
”Maybe I was wrong, getting you guys to back down. Maybe you should have pressed harder. Been more specific. More threatening.” I glanced at Jack. ”Okay, I'll stop fretting.”
”Never said that.”
”You don't need to.”
We watched them get into their separate cars.
”So who do we follow?” I asked.
”Dad,” Quinn said.
It didn't matter. They went to the same place. Home.
Jack and I spent the next hour monitoring the house as Quinn returned the rental car. Then Quinn caught a cab back, and we waited two more hours. Leslie put the baby to bed, the couple talked about their respective days, watched a pretaped episode of Desperate Housewives, Desperate Housewives, and, at ten-thirty, headed off to bed without a single exchange about their visitors from earlier. and, at ten-thirty, headed off to bed without a single exchange about their visitors from earlier.