“You’re sure.”
Tuck nodded.
Carlyn dabbed under her eyes with a shredded Kleenex, then tucked the tissue into the ribbed wristband of her cornflower blue sweater. “How could that happen? It seemed right, when we met, didn’t it?”
“I don’t know,” Tuck said. “I don’t know what’s right. Or how anything… seems. All I know is, I’m so sorry. I’m so very sorry.”
The fire popped, a glowing ember hitting the woven metal fireplace screen. No one moved. Wishing she was invisible, or better yet, not there at all, Jane watched the two women, one younger, one twenty years older, who had been promised a miracle, then bitterly disappointed. Was there anything she should say? Or do?
Tuck broke the silence.
“But, actually, the reason I brought Jane is, I’m enraged. Aren’t you? Carlyn? I waited all my life for this. Then they called, and I came to meet you, and it was terrifying and then wonderful, and now, I mean, these are people’s lives they’re messing with. How could they-” Tuck’s voice caught. She gulped, and tried again. “How can they do this?”
Carlyn reached over, touched Tuck’s knee, then took her hand away. “Why do people do what they do? I was in love with a professor who never cared about me. I was eighteen. Eighteen! I had to give up my own child. I never wanted to. Now I’m almost fifty. For years, I battled regret. And anger. But you know? That’s destructive. It steals your soul, honey. Incredibly disappointed? Yes. Disheartened? Yes. But enraged? After all this time? I’ll have to-”
“Listen, Carlyn.” Tuck kept talking. “Jane’s a reporter for the Boston Register newspaper. I don’t work there anymore, remember?”
“Of course, honey, but-”
“And I think if something went wrong with us-if the agency sent me to you incorrectly…”
Tuck paused, and an ember popped, filling the silence.
“I see. That it could have happened to other people, too.” Carlyn finished Tuck’s sentence, then turned to Jane, frowning. “Is that what you’re suggesting? Jane? Have you ever heard of such a thing?”
Jane took a sip of tea, then set her mug on a raffia coaster. Shook her head. “I haven’t,” she said. “And it would be very difficult to find out. Some adoptions are ‘open,’ those wouldn’t be the problem. It’s the sealed ones, like yours and Tuck’s, that’d be in question. But those closed adoptions are confidential, and private, and protected. We could never have access to those cases, unless someone complained. And even then it would have to be a public complaint, since if they simply contacted the Brannigan, no one but those involved would ever know. It would be in the agency’s best interest to keep it quiet.”
“Lawsuits, maybe?” Carlyn asked.
Jane held out both palms, agreeing. “Possibly. We can check. If you like. Of course, I’d predict if there were lawsuits, they’d be gagged by confidentiality agreements, maybe even completely sealed.”
“But what they did is unacceptable.” Tuck crossed her arms over her chest, matched Carlyn’s frown. “We have to pursue it.”
“Or not.” Jane knew Tuck was hurting, but it should also be Carlyn’s decision.
“Action is always more effective than anger.” Carlyn stood, brushing down her skirt with the palms of both hands. “And I think… we’re required to look into it. Not simply for our sake. For everyone’s. Let me show you something.”
Reaching under the coffee table, Carlyn pulled out a black portfolio, unzipped three sides. When she placed the folder flat on the table, Jane saw it was filled with papers, what looked like documents, and clippings. Carlyn selected a newspaper clipping attached to a pink piece of typing paper.
Jane recognized the typeface of the Register. And the tiny font size of the death notices.
Carlyn pointed one finger at a clipping. “The death notice of Lillian Finch. She’s the one who called me about Audrey. Last Sunday, she died.”
Jane nodded along with Tuck. “Yes, we know of her. I guess the police must still be investigating the cause of-or, wait. Is there something else about it?”
Carlyn didn’t answer, but selected another clipping. “This is the death notice of Niall Brannigan. He was there when I dropped you-I mean, Audrey Rose-off that morning. He died on Monday night, apparently. His funeral is today, according to the-Honey, are you okay?”
Tuck was lowering herself to the couch, clutching the flowery armrest for balance. Jane sank back into the armchair, wondering if her face had turned as ashen as Tuck’s.
“Niall-,” Tuck whispered.
“Brannigan?” Jane heard the hollow sound of her own voice. Two people from the same agency, dead, in a matter of days? The two people connected to Tuck’s case. “Died? Of what? Tuck, did Ella Gavin tell you that?”
“Ella Gavin?” Carlyn looked up from her documents.
Jane could not read her expression.
“Ella? Gavin?” Carlyn closed the folder. “You know who Ella Gavin is?”
54
“You don’t want to do this, Ricker.” Jake kept his weapon trained at Curtis Ricker’s head. He had to be ready to take the kill shot.
It had been three minutes since Jake arrived in the basement parking garage of Police HQ. The garage was a bitch of a place for this to happen. The dank shadows. The dripping pipes. The crammed-in cruisers and oil-slick floors. The suffocating smell of exhaust. The concrete walls that could ricochet a good shot into a catastrophe.
Not that this wasn’t already a catastrophe.
The Supe had met Jake at HQ’s front door when he and DeLuca arrived, ran them down the back stairs. “He’s been holding her for ten minutes,” the Supe said over his shoulder as they bounded down the concrete steps, all taking two at a time. “Desk guy didn’t see them, you know how the cams are down there. This the collar you’re having second thoughts about, Brogan? Seems guilty as hell to me. She was putting him into the transport van. Apparently the slimeball convinced her to loosen the damn handcuffs, and she-whatever.”
“So what’s the plan?” They’d clanged open the metal door to the parking garage.
“Plan? Hostage unit’s en route. I’ll bring ’em down. But the slime’s asking for you, Brogan. Says he wants you to see this. What a complete asshole. Get over there and make this go away.”
Ricker stared daggers at Jake. He still wore the grimy jeans and faded plaid shirt he had had on when Jake arrested him. One aluminum handcuff dangled from his left wrist as his arm clenched Officer Jan Kurtz in a headlock. His right hand-the one with no handcuff-held her police-issue Glock against her temple. Though he was a full head taller, they stood ear to ear. His head almost touched hers.
Jake had no shot. Impossible.
Kurtz, tears streaming, was not doing well. Eyes red and swollen, nose running, black mascara dripping down her face. One boot was gone, and the tails of her blue uniform shirt pulled askew from her navy pants. At least she wasn’t screaming.
“You’re okay, Kurtz. You’re doing fine.” Jake needed to reassure her. Make her a real person to Ricker. He had to understand Kurtz was a human being, not a pawn. He had to let her go. Or he’d be dead.
D was backing him up, now behind him somewhere with the other cops ducked between cars. Waiting. But it was all Jake’s show. And he knew it. If he hadn’t arrested Ricker, none of this would have happened. What if Ricker wasn’t guilty, and now this was-
Later. That was for later. Now, Jake needed to keep calm. Lower the energy. That was his only hope.