But this is what Tuck asked her to do. A young woman had almost died to help Tuck find the answer.
Jane reached for the phone. Then stopped, hand in mid-air.
Was it too early? She checked her computer monitor-still before eight in the morning. Too early. She wasn’t stalling. But no need to terrify anyone with an early morning call. She took her hand away, rested her chin on her fists, stared at the inky footprint.
Thinking of her drive with Tuck to see Carlyn. And that person in the black truck who’d terrified them on the highway.
Jake had mentioned “Finn.” There could be another Finn, of course, but Jake’s Finn was involved with Perl. Maybe she should give Mr. F. Eberhardt a call at DFS.
Hmm.
Were the DFS people-Maggie Gunnison-aware of Perl’s arrest yet? Even if Jane couldn’t write the story, she could help out the reporter who did by digging up a reaction quote. Any brownie points she could get with Alex were a good thing.
It took only a second to get connected. Eight o’clock. She imagined Vee enthroned at the reception desk. “Maggie Gunnison, please.”
“She’s not… available,” Vee said.
Probably too early. Or-of course, she was still on vacation, in Anguilla. She’d missed everything. “Okay, then, may I speak to Finn Eberhardt?”
“He’s in today, but out of the office, on the road, ma’am,” Vee said. “He’s probably driving right now. I can patch you through to his cell phone.”
Before Jane could reply, she heard a click and a buzz-exactly like she had in the car when she’d asked Tuck to check that Finn couldn’t be tailgating them. The same noises she’d heard when Tuck placed their test call to DFS.
“Finn Eberhardt,” the voice came back.
“Curtis Ricker. What an asshole.” DeLuca, in the passenger seat of Jake’s cruiser, was already on his third cup of coffee. From the looks of him, he’d had about as rough a night as Jake. Turned out DeLuca hadn’t been with Kat McMahan, but hearing a crack-of-dawn confession from a terrified, hysterical Maggie Gunnison. “They’re all assholes.”
“So you told her Ricker was dead? Why?” Jake stopped at the light, a search warrant safely in his pocket. He and DeLuca were about to kick some bad guy ass, if he did say so himself. About time. According to Maggie Gunnison, Ricker had been in on the kidnapping scheme. Though it didn’t excuse Hennessey’s disastrous action, at least Jake’s arrest of the creep was righteous.
More good news-since Perl was now in custody, it didn’t matter whether little Phillip identified baby Diane. He’d be safe with Bethany till this all played out. Things were looking up.
“Why not tell her?” DeLuca shrugged. “Filled her in on the Perl arrest, too. I went to her cell, told her-‘You don’t have to say a thing, just thought you’d like to know.’ Yadda yadda. She flipped out. Couldn’t spill the beans fast enough. Said she didn’t need a lawyer.”
“You got her on tape? Saying that?”
“Oh, duh, no, shoulda thought of that. Mercy me, if only you’d been there.”
“Screw you.” Everybody was a comedian.
“No, thanks,” D said. He took a slug of coffee, put it back in the cup holder. “So. That guy Finn that Perl was talking about? Works at DFS with Maggie. He’s Perl’s nephew. He’s in the dark about the arrest, of course, so we’ll pay Mr. Eberhardt a nice visit. If we can get him to talk voluntarily, we won’t have to read him his rights.”
“You’re a credit to the force, D,” Jake said. “Did Gunnison explain the Ricker connection?”
“Yup. Ricker was Perl’s-like, apartment manager. Watched over the places where they did the ‘kid exchanges,’ that’s what they called it. Knew all about it. Maggie’d yank the children from the system, always on a weekend. She’d babysit until Perl picked them up.”
Jake thought back. “Remember when we asked if he had ‘dependents’? On Prize Patrol day? He kinda hesitated, remember? Man. It was because there were kids depending on him. Just not his own.”
“Asshole. Like I said. Anyway, this Maggie Gunnison. Turns out she had no idea Perl was cashing in. That he was getting money for arranging the adoptions. I informed our clueless Maggie that he was not Lord Bountiful. That Crime Scene had easily found the bank records in Perl’s apartment, the kickbacks from the adoption lawyer. We’re talking like, megabucks. That’s what really did it. She’s gonna testify. Slam dunk. Yay for the good guys.”
Jake considered this as he checked the house numbers on the cookie-cutter Cape Cods lining the neighborhood. Lots of “for sale” signs. Sagging shutters and rusting cars. Grim. Even the melting layer of snow was grubby. “She was doing it out of some misguided good intentions? Thought she was helping kids go to better homes?”
DeLuca pointed at a maybe-white house. “That’s it. Forty-three Bronwell Street. Up the block. Yup. That’s how Uncle Lennie Perl and nephew Eberhardt convinced her to help them. ‘You have the power to make a better life for the kids.’ She said she couldn’t come up with a reason why it wasn’t a good thing.”
“The old ‘kidnapping is against the law’ didn’t occur to her, apparently. You ready?” Jake parked the cruiser half a block away. It was unmarked, but scumbags could always sniff out cops. Only the good guys were easier to fool.
They walked up three concrete steps to a sagging wooden porch, saw the aluminum mailbox gaping open, hanging by one nail.
“Don’t even think about it,” Jake muttered.
“Gimme a break.” DeLuca kept his voice low, too. “You knocking?”
“Backup’s nearby if we need ’em. Here we go.” Jake banged on the door. “I hear a TV inside. They’re home. This is gonna be interesting.”
“Get the door,” Kev yelled. As usual, he didn’t move from his spot on the couch. The creeps were glued to some guy on TV who was eating raw bugs or something, completely gross. She’d headed for the kitchen, where there was real food. Calories didn’t count this early in the day.
Kellianne twisted open the plastic milk bottle. Sniffed. Winced. Yuck. “I’m in the kitchen, moron,” she yelled, dumping the milk into the sink. “Get off your ass for once.” That part she said only to herself.
She turned on the water, looked for a cleanish glass. It would be great if Mom was home more. She was always at the hospital, where things weren’t looking good for Dad, least that’s what she’d heard her mother say to someone on the phone. Mom hadn’t talked to the three of them much at all. There was some commotion in the living room, probably on TV. Who’d be knocking on their door? It was only like nine in the morning.
But maybe it was a special delivery? Her money from RedSky? Shit! She should’ve answered the door. If the boys got hold of it they’d demand to know what it was and she’d be-
She ran down the hall, toward the noise, trying to think of how she was gonna explain this.
Who was that?
She skidded to a halt at the edge of the living room. Kev and Keefer were with two guys, a tall guy and a cuter one, both wearing leather jackets. They looked familiar, but she couldn’t place them. The cute one was showing Kev a piece of paper.
“You a Sessions?” the tall one said to her.
“I’m-” Kellianne pursed her lips, thinking hard. Who were these guys?
“Don’t you say a word.” Kev pointed to her. His ears were turning red and she could see he was fuming. Keefer’s fists were clenching and unclenching.
This was not the mailman.
“I’m Detective Jake Brogan, Boston PD,” the cute one said. “This is my partner, Detective Paul DeLuca. I gather you’re Kevin, Keefer, and Kellianne? We’ve got a search warrant for the residence of Kent R. Sessions and the offices of Afterwards Cleaning, Inc., including any and all items belonging to Lillian Finch, Niall Brannigan, and Brianna Tillson. So now I’m going to ask all of you to-”