The ad was as Sandy described it. And the note was signed, dated, and witnessed by Antoinette Burgess and Sandra Wilson.
I sighed, and then I had to say it.
“Toni, the problem is, Avis Richardson is only fifteen years old.”
“She’s
“She’s a liar,” I said. “And that’s just the beginning.”
“This is just
She was crying so hard, it was difficult to make out everything she said, but this much I got loud and clear: “We planned for him. We delivered him. We’re giving him a loving home. Avis didn’t want him. She had no love for him at all.”
I went to Sandy and took her gun out of her coveralls pocket and ejected out the magazine.
She looked up at me, pleading. “Help us. What do we have to do to keep him?”
“You can’t keep him, Sandy,” I said, knowing that my words were like taking a hatchet to her heart. “This baby already has a family who wants him. I’m very sorry for your pain.”
Chapter 81
OUR DEPARTURE from Clark Lane was excruciating; slow and tearful.
Cops, neighbors, and Devil Girlz crowded around the Explorer as Toni handed me a car seat and other things for the baby, and Sandy pushed papers into my hands.
“This letter is for Tyler to read when he’s older,” Sandy said. And she gave me her diary and a fat envelope of pictures documenting the baby’s birth.
I put the photos in the door pocket, evidence that would do until Tyler’s DNA was processed, and I set up the car seat in the backseat.
Claire fired up the ignition, and as soon as we cleared Taylor Creek, I reclined in the passenger seat and dozed, my eyes flashing open every few minutes over the next four hundred miles. I kept turning to look back at Tyler.
What was next for this baby?
Would he be okay?
As dusk blotted out sundown over Bryant Street, we pulled into the parking lot outside the Medical Examiner’s Office. Conklin was standing next to his car, tossing his keys into the air, catching them, waiting for us to arrive.
He came over to the car, opened the back door, and stood speechless as he gazed down at the baby.
“This kid is adorable,” he said. “So what’s the plan?”
I unfolded my aching bones, got out of the Explorer, and said, “We’re going to wait a few hours before calling Child Protective Services.”
I hugged Claire good-bye, took Tyler and his car seat, and got into the squad car, Conklin behind the wheel. He said, “The last place Avis Richardson used her cell phone was Tijuana. She called her parents. That was twelve hours ago.”
“Here’s what I think,” I said. “We introduce the baby to the Richardsons. Tell them to call Avis’s phone. Even if they just leave a message, that’s fine. They just need to say, ‘We got your baby back.’
“We put a trap on their phone line,” I said. “And we take the baby to St. Francis. We have undercover work in neonatal until Avis comes to see the baby. We put another team at the hotel.”
“And if she doesn’t show?”
“I’ll think of something else. You can bet I will.”
“Works for me,” said Conklin.
Chapter 82
SONJA AND PAUL RICHARDSON were waiting in the hallway outside their suite, shades of hope, expectation, and praise-the-Lord lighting their faces.
They ran toward us as we got off the elevator, and I braced for the imminent shock of separating from the baby.
I clutched the little boy as I told Sonja that by law we had to take him to the hospital, and the legal system would dictate what happened to him after that.
“But I knew you would want to see him first,” I said and handed the child to his grandmother.
It was a beautiful moment.
Sonja’s pretty face shone with tears as she held him. Her husband curved a protective arm around her shoulders and put a hand on his grandson’s chest. Sonja looked up at me and said, “Thank you so much for finding him.”
“This is a great day,” Paul said. “A great day.”
Back in the suite, we all sat down for a serious conversation.
“Sonja, Paul,” I said. “Avis has to come in. Avis was the one who placed the ad on Prattslist. We have a copy of the ad. She wasn’t solicited. She put the baby up for sale and was paid twenty-five thousand dollars. That’s child trafficking. We have a copy of the contract she signed.”
Conklin said, “Avis is in Mexico, and that means that she’ll be deported when she’s caught. If Ritter is with her, he’s guilty of transporting a minor across international lines. He’s in enough trouble to keep a platoon of lawyers busy for years.”
“But because Avis is a minor,” I said, “if she comes in on her own, we can try to protect her. We’ll work with the DA to get her into the juvenile offenders system. But if she’s deported from Mexico …,” I said with a shrug. “Trust me. You don’t want her to be tried as an adult.”
A look passed between husband and wife.
Paul Richardson sighed deeply.
“Avis is in the bedroom,” he said. “Actually, Jordan is in there, too.”
Chapter 83
I SAID to the Richardsons, “Please take the baby to the kitchen. Lie down with him on the floor. Go. Now.”
The Richardsons looked startled, but they did as I said.
I pulled my gun, Rich pulled his, and we flanked the door to the bedroom.
I shouted, “Avis Richardson. Jordan Ritter, this is Sergeant Boxer. It’s all over. Come out with your hands up.”
There was silence, but before Rich could kick in the door, we heard Ritter’s voice.
“Sergeant. We don’t have any weapons.”
The door opened and Ritter came out with his hands up. He hadn’t shaved and his cheeks were sunburned. Even so, he still looked like an ad for an upscale men’s clothing line.
Rich spun Ritter around and flattened him against the wall. He frisked him and was cuffing him as Avis darted out of the bedroom.
