“You’ve been busy, Ray.” I pointed to the pictures of the Biases, the Cranes, the Hansens, and the Thorstens, my Sunnyview resident Ingrid’s son and grandchildren. Post-it notes with dates in yellow were under the pictures. Pink post-it notes had illegible scrawl writing on it. Green post-in notes had Cayman written in block letters and a date.
“There are three families that I think we can prove the adoptions were illegal. The Crane’s kids are definitely the ones from that article you found.” Ray flipped through one of the stacks of paper and pulled out the article. He grabbed blue painter’s tape and taped it under the pink post-it note. “Now, what we don’t know is if the families involved knew the kids were black market babies.”
My gut twisted. “I can’t believe anyone would–”
“You’d be surprised,” Joe said quietly. “Desperate people do desperate things. I’m sure Tyler really thought he was providing a better future for the babies.”
Ray pointed to Isaac’s picture. “Do you know anything about them?”
“Ingrid said their parents died in the Guatemalan earthquake.” I closed my eyes. “Do we know if all the adoptions Tyler worked on were illegal?”
“No,” Ray said. “In fact, I would suspect most are legal.” He nodded to Joe. “Search Peter Adkins, Ohio, and disbarred, and see what pops up.”
Joe opened the laptop and typed, using his pointer fingers. He whistled. “Listen to this, Peter Adkins was permanently disbarred from the practice of law on September 4, 2010 for counseling his client to bribe witnesses and for delivering the bribe payments to the witnesses.”
I looked over his shoulder at the laptop screen. Peter Adkins looked harmless dressed in a suit with his dark hair and eyes, and easy smile. “Hard to believe someone so innocuous looking could have murdered Oscar.”
Joe continued typing and looked at the butcher paper. “The last couple of Guatemalan earthquakes listed in Wikipedia are 2012 and 2017.”
“Write that on a yellow sticky,” Ray said.
I pulled the yellow post-it pad to me and wrote the information. “When were the 2017 earthquakes?”
“June 14th and June 22nd,” Joe said.
I stuck the yellow post-it under Ingrid’s grandchildren. I’d estimate the children to be between the ages of two and four. They wouldn’t have been alive for the 2012 earthquake. “Can you check Tyler’s court schedule? The Thorsten’s have a picture of the kids at Christmas, so the adoption should be sometime between June and December of 2017.”
Joe turned back to the computer.
“Hold on, I have access to some court documents.” Ray sat next to Joe and pulled the laptop in front of him.
“How’s that?” I asked.
“Before I retired, I made sure I’d maintain access to useful websites.” He shot me a ‘don’t-judge’ look.
“That’ll come in handy if you go into private investigation,” Joe said.
Ray nodded and typed faster than my high school home-economics teacher.
“Why would you have access to West Virginia family courts?” I asked.
Ray rewarded me with his signature ‘are-you-an-idiot’ look. “Most of what I did as a Military Police Detective was petty theft and domestic disputes, including child support. I have access to most states.”
I lowered my voice. “Your mom said you were shot on duty.”
He groaned. “Of course, she did.”
“In your right leg?” Joe asked.
“Yeah, I took a slug to my calf from an angry husband who didn’t appreciate me doing my due diligence. How’d you know?”
Joe tilted his head. “You’ve got a slight foot drop. Probably from the peroneal nerve. Did you get physical therapy after the injury?”
Ray scoffed. “That’s for–”
I cleared my throat and eyed him with my I-will-put-soap-in-your-mouth glare.
“No. No therapy,” Ray said quietly. He nudged Joe. “The kids never gave you lip, did they.”
Joe grinned. “Nope.”
Ray continued typing. “Got it. September 23, 2017.” He smiled. “Ingrid should be able to relax. The court case documents include the parents’ death certificates and the adoption from the Sisters of Mercy Orphanage.”
I slumped in my chair, overwhelmed with relief. “Thank goodness.”
Ray continued typing. “Okay, based on the dates you gave me, I’ve pulled up the court documents for the three other adoptions. I’ll email a link to you. I’ll take the Biases. Joe, you look through the Crane’s stuff, and Charlie you take the Hansens. We’re looking for any information about the birth parents or orphanage, and anything with Peter Adkins’s name on it. Check through the exhibits first.”
“Got it.” I opened the email from Ray and was directed to a folder on his Google Drive.
“I’ve got a guy who may be able to tell us if Peter Adkins used his passport to travel on the dates Tyler took off. I just sent him an email.”
“Does Oscar have a printer?” Joe asked.
“No. Is that weird?” I asked.
Ray shook his head. “He could print stuff from work. Everything is digital these days.”
“I guess he wasn’t printing recipes off Pinterest,” I admitted.
“The Crane’s baby came from the Bringing Families Together Adoption Agency in Cincinnati,” Joe said. “The birth record doesn’t have a name. It shows the baby was surrendered after birth, and the mother’s name is listed as Female Doe.”
“Is that legal?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” Joe said.
“Me neither. But if the baby was the result of a rape, maybe the mother could choose to remain anonymous,” Ray said.
I read through the first court document and found which exhibit would include the birth record and adoption agency. “Bringing Families Together. The Hansens used the same agency.” I searched for the birth record and opened it up. “Noel Sandoval is listed as the mother. She’s only fifteen according to the birth record, and the father isn’t listed.” I opened a new tab in my web browser and searched for Bringing Families Together Adoption Agency in Cincinnati.
Ray clapped. “Yep, same agency. Birth mother also fifteen, but her name is Minerva Ruiz.”
My search yielded no results for Cincinnati. “The agency isn’t on Google.”
Ray nodded. “Yeah, there’s one in Missouri, but it looks legit. Still, the FBI will find this useful.”
“The
