Page 10 of 2nd Strike
Amelia Norris was a whacko who somehow made it through the system. A nurse for many years, she suffered from bouts of depression and anxiety. My notes on her are sparse given that my team had no connection to her prior to her neighbor giving her up. A babysitter for the Havers—she had great recommendations they told us—she up and took off with the baby one day shortly after he was born. She changed her name, moved around frequently, and never enrolled him in school or took him for regular medical checkups and immunizations. By all accounts, she snatched him and disappeared like a ghost.
I dig into my various databases and look up information regarding her and her family before she became a kidnapper. Outside of some family alcoholism, there is little to be found. Medical records are not something I can access without a warrant, but I make notes on living relatives and several friends Amelia had so I can begin making calls and interviewing them in-depth about her.
I've hit two dead ends with family leads when Meg blows into the office and slaps down a sketch. “What do you think?" she asks.
I study the face in detail, and it's good, very well done. Something about it, though, lacks the usual Meg touch. Hers are so real; they look as if they’ll come to life on the page. This one appears flat and…not like one of hers at all.
When she left the office this morning, she was tired and jittery. Her demeanor has changed now. She's relaxed and there's a spark in her eyes I haven't seen in a long time.
I sit back in my chair and cross my hands over my belly. “Maybe this was a bad idea. You're biased after all. You did the original age progression, and you’ve seen Ethan in person now at fifteen.”
“Biased?" Her tone conveys affront, but the spark is still there.
There's something she's not telling me but I can't pinpoint what it is. “It's subconscious. I know you don't mean to let confirmation bias slant your work, but in this case—“
"I didn't do the sketch for that very reason. I knew I couldn't be objective."
Now I know. “You went and saw your friend."
She nods. “Jerome did it. What do you think?"
I think that she needs to get laid, but she's not relaxed enough for that to have happened. She thinks her crush on Jerome is a secret. She also believes I don't know about the pot.
We all need our secrets. “It's not as good as yours would've been, but I appreciate the fact you had someone else sketch the progression. You never fail to amaze me."
A smile spreads across her face. “Looks just like him, doesn't it? The chin, the slant of the eyes, even the earlobes."
Itdoes. I'm slightly relieved and irritated. I need an answer, something that points me in the right direction. This only seems to muddle things more in my mind.
“Jerome wouldn’t take payment,” she says. “He just wants to know how things turn out.”
I eye her and feel my stomach bottom out. I tap the sketch. “You didn’t tell him who this is, did you?”
“Not who he is specifically.”
I close my eyes and rein in the sick feeling in my stomach. “We don’t want this to get out to the media, Meg. The whole thing could become a public shitstorm before we’ve even secured the retests.”
In the reception area, I hear the phone ring. We’re still dealing with one hell of a media frenzy with the arrest of Billy Ray. Haley and I’ve been fielding calls all morning from the press wanting statements from both me and my sister, and I, personally, am not ready for another ugly brush with fame.
She waves a hand in the air as if shooing away my worries. “Jerome only knows Ethan’s first name.”
I wish I shared her confidence. I may have to call and threaten the guy.
“Charlie?” Haley buzzes me. “There’s a kid on line one who claims he’s a new client and needs to speak to Meg, but she’s not picking up her office phone. Can you take it?”
My sister’s eyes have that spark again. “How can he look so much like Carl and Lily’s son but not be him?”
I tell Haley to send the call through and I put Ethan on speaker. “Hi, Ethan. What’s up?”
“I got a hit!” He’s out of breath, as if he’s running. “I uploaded my DNA results to that database and I have a match! Looks like a third cousin. I’m heading home now to dive deeper.”
“What database?”
Meg’s brows wiggle slightly and she pulls her lips in, taking a step back toward the door.
“Stop,” I tell her, coming out of my seat. She freezes, still pinching her lips between her teeth. What has she done? “What database?” I ask Ethan again, but really, I’m asking both.
I hear rustling and more heavy breathing. The kid is definitely running or riding his bike like a maniac. “The one Meg told me about last night. She said it could take weeks, but I already have a match! I’m on my way home to email the guy. Told the school I was sick.”
