Childless: A Novel (24 page)

“This conversation is over, Mr. Cain,” Dimitri said after downing the last of his drink. “And you can assure Mr. Tolbert that I intend to speak to Josh Franklin about this little stunt.”

Tyler reached deep to forge an intimidating tone. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. This is a highly sensitive investigation that—”

It was too late. The screen had already gone black, leaving Tyler wondering what, exactly, he had done. One thing was certain. He had stepped in something messy. And it smelled pretty bad.

As far
as Tyler could tell, Jennifer McKay’s preoccupied gaze fell somewhere between the digital calendar of events hanging on the wall and whatever was beyond, as though she possessed X-ray vision. A desk phone handset was wedged firmly between her left shoulder and ear while she poked mindlessly at salad leftovers with a fork. The conversation seemed unimportant based on the brief utterances she made every few seconds.

“Hmm.”

“Right.”

“I see.”

After nearly two minutes she was still completely unaware he was standing there. Finally Tyler rapped his knuckles hard on the desk surface to announce himself.

Startled, Jennifer simultaneously juggled the phone and spun around to locate the intruder. Seeing Tyler, she held up one finger, then ended the call with a curt “Let me call you back in a few minutes.”

At this, Tyler plopped himself into one of two guest chairs.

“What are you doing here?” she said accusingly, nervously glancing around the otherwise empty office.

“We need to talk.”

“Mr. Cain, I wish you had called first. Now’s not a good time. Judge Santiago is in his chambers right this very moment. If he were to see you here—”

“Tell him I’m your long-lost cousin, then.”

“I don’t have any long-lost cousins.”

Tyler hoped to gain the upper hand to head off a repeat of their last encounter. He leaned forward with an air of importance. “Does it matter?”

Taking a long deep breath, Jennifer finally relaxed enough to lean back in her chair. “I’m assuming this is about the letters.”

Showing up unannounced had served his purpose. Tyler glanced around the office. Aside from the guard at the building’s entrance, he hadn’t been approached by anyone asking why he was there, nor had anything stopped him from walking right into this office without Judge Santiago’s personal assistant even noticing. What would prevent someone from breaking through into Judge Santiago’s chambers? Above the doorway a metal conduit led up through the ceiling. Probably wiring for an alarm system of some kind, but too little too late to stop a potential killer with a grudge.

As he’d hoped, she followed his gaze around the room.

“You’re completely unprepared, Ms. McKay.”

“Excuse me?”

“What if I had been a gunman?”

“There are metal detectors. No guns allowed.”

He nodded toward a decorative lamp sitting on the edge of her desk. “Blunt-force trauma to the head is just as deadly.”

Jennifer instinctively raised her hand to the back of her head protectively, combing her fingers through her hair in a vain attempt to seem unfazed. “Are you trying to scare me, Mr. Cain? Because as I already told you, safety is not a concern here. Unless you have information to suggest we
should
be concerned…”

This time it was Tyler who eased back into his chair. Mission accomplished. Jennifer McKay was on the defensive. He had the upper hand. A little fear was a powerful way to hook a listening ear.

“I
might
have information,” he said, dangling a proverbial carrot.

Jennifer glanced toward Santiago’s chambers again, then back to Tyler, her demeanor sharpening. “You
might
? Is that short for ‘I don’t have a single lead’?”

She was onto him already.

“No,” Tyler lied, hoping to recover. “It’s code for ‘I have a potential lead, but I need something to help smoke out the author to know for sure.’ Something from you.”

“From me?”

“I need you to reply to the letters.”

She shot up immediately. “I already told you I can’t—”

“You can’t do that. Yes, I know. But the stakes on this case might be higher than either of us originally imagined. Much higher.”

Which was true. Maybe.

“Really?” Jennifer said doubtfully, then turned and slid open one of her desk drawers, pulling out a photograph. She laid it out on the desk and shoved it over for Tyler to see.

It was a picture of a little girl in pink pajamas holding tightly to a rag doll. It reminded him, vaguely, of the photo Smitty had shown of his daughter, with her larger-than-life innocent smile. But aside from that slight resemblance, the photo seemed unremarkable.

“Is she…yours?” Tyler asked.

Jennifer shook her head. “Gosh, no! I’m far too busy to have a partner, let alone a family! No, this little girl represents the outcome of an eight-year battle her parents had in the court system, fighting for the right to adopt the frozen embryo of the mother’s brain-dead sister. An auto accident prevented implantation, and there was no legal precedent in allowing such an adoption without a parent’s written consent. In fact, the sister had left instructions to donate any unused embryos to science. But here she is, almost twelve years after the legal battle began. She’s four.”

Tyler glanced at the little girl one more time, then slid the photo back. “She’s cute. But I don’t see how this matters to this case.”

Jennifer sighed. “It matters because you still seem to underestimate the importance of Judge Santiago’s work.”

“What are you talking about? I’ve never said his work wasn’t important.”

“Not directly. But I need you to understand. This little girl—Hope is her name—she’s a reminder. She’s alive today because of an opinion Judge Santiago issued several years back.”

“And?”

Jennifer frowned as if Tyler had missed her obvious point. “The stakes in Judge Santiago’s cases are always higher than we know, Mr. Cain. Not just in this case.”

“Fine. But hear me out, please.”

“I’m listening,” she said grudgingly.

“There just aren’t enough useful clues in the letters themselves. And if I try to approach the suspect directly, there could be dangerous ramifications.”

“Such as?”

“Such as…retaliation.”

“Retaliation against whom? Santiago?”

“Perhaps.”

She shook her head, clearly frustrated. “There you go with the suppositions again. Perhaps. Might. Possibly. I need more than that.”

For a moment Tyler considered mentioning his conversation with Evan Dimitri. But he stopped himself. He just couldn’t be certain. Yes, Mr. Dimitri had something to lose—a lot to lose, actually—but Tyler had been unable to watch his eyes, leaving him no choice but to believe Dimitri when he said he knew nothing about the letters. Besides, he couldn’t tell her about the conference call without mentioning that he had violated her insistence that no one see the letters. Worse than see them, Tyler had scanned and sent digital copies!

“I can’t give you more. Not yet. But what if you contacted the author on
behalf
of Judge Santiago? It doesn’t have to be the judge himself. He doesn’t even have to know about it. You can do it. I just need you to establish actual communication. I’ll coach you on what to say.”

Tyler stopped talking when he realized Jennifer was not even pretending to consider his suggestion.

Just then the door to Judge Santiago’s chambers opened, and out came an impeccably dressed man with thinning gray hair. He closed the door behind himself and double-checked to see it was locked by rattling the handle. When he spun around, he looked surprised.

“Oh!” he exclaimed, then took a step forward. “I didn’t realize we had any further appointments today, Jennifer.”

Tyler rose respectfully. “It’s an honor to meet you in person, sir.”

Santiago smiled, then said, “Well, I’d say the honor is mine, but I have no idea who you are!”

“Oh, right. I’m…” Tyler searched frantically for an appropriate ruse.

“—the caterer,” Jennifer finished for him, “for your wife’s surprise birthday party.”

“Ah, yes! Then it is an honor to meet you,” Santiago said more enthusiastically. He accepted Tyler’s outstretched hand and shook it vigorously before frowning. “Although I must admit you don’t fit the part.”

Tyler tried to release his grip, unsuccessfully. “Excuse me?”

“Caterer. You don’t fit the part. Handshake’s all wrong. Clothing choice. If I had to guess, I’d say you worked as some sort of public servant. A fireman, perhaps?”

Tyler smiled at the suggestion.

“Or maybe a security guard,” the judge added.

Tyler furrowed his brow then went with the judge’s first guess by playing the part of caterer. “It takes a lot of strength in the hands to properly prepare hors d’oeuvres!”

Both men laughed politely.

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Santiago reassured him. “The trick will be pulling it off without anyone other than myself and Ms. McKay here knowing. My wife always has a way of finding out about any surprise. I think she has my office bugged or something!”

Tyler smiled. “I see.”

Then Santiago pulled his coconspirator in close, glancing at Jennifer before whispering in his ear. “I don’t care what she says…you just make sure to serve something men like us can really sink our teeth into. I’m tired of all those delicate finger foods with names I can’t even pronounce. Got it?”

Tyler liked the judge already. He quickly pulled back and winked.

Santiago freed Tyler’s hand. “Well, I must be off. My beautiful wife Rebecca awaits my return!”

And with that he turned and rushed out the door.

“Caterer?” Tyler said to Jennifer as he sat back down. “Well, he seems like a nice guy. Good judge of character.”

“Yes, Mr. Cain. Exactly. He pegged you in three seconds flat.” After several moments of silent tension she added, “Are you finished, then? Because as I told you I can’t risk compromising his role.”

He pursed his lips in frustration, then blurted out, “Doesn’t a death threat compromise his role?”

“Please. A request for dialogue is not a death threat, Mr. Cain. You aren’t hearing me on this. It doesn’t matter if Judge Santiago merely knows about the letters, if he actually reads the letters, or if he opens dialogue with the person who wrote the letters. Even if I were to dialogue with the author on his behalf, there would be the appearance of impropriety. The appearance. That’s all it takes for someone to declare Santiago unfit to render an opinion.”

“Well, then, it might be time we convinced the judge to resign from the case. For his own protection.”

“Protection from what?”

Tyler ran his hand over the back of his head, staring up at the ceiling, tired of this game. What else could he say? He had vast experience in these matters. She should just trust his expert opinion.

Then he remembered the forensic report; a small detail that might mean nothing. But he needed something, anything, that would imply progress.

“I think the author of these letters is on the move,” he finally said, taking a completely different tack.

“On the move?”

“It appears the first three letters were sent from outside the area. In the vicinity of Boulder, actually. While the most recent letter was probably sent locally.”

It was no more than a possibility. The envelopes showed microscopic traces of DNA from staff members who work at a Boulder postal processing facility. But that only meant the letters had
been
there, not that they had necessarily been sent from there. Still, it seemed a plausible theory.

“And?” Jennifer McKay continued staring, waiting impatiently for some juicy revelation.

“And I think it’s an indication of the author’s obsession with this case. His next move might be to confront Judge Santiago in person.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Cain,” she said. “But Judge Santiago pays me to make hard calls. I simply can’t tell the judge about these letters until you have some shred of evidence that tells me he is in real danger. I need more than hunches and assumptions.”

“But I just told you…”

“People move all the time,” she interrupted. “They also drop letters off at different post boxes. Boulder and Denver are not that far apart. What you have is circumstantial at best.”

“It’s just…a gut instinct I have. And when my gut tells me something, I find it’s best not to ignore it!”

“Then don’t ignore it. Find out who sent these letters, like I hired you to do in the first place.”

Tyler felt a rising sense of desperation. He was going nowhere fast with this conversation. He feared Jennifer’s stubbornness might be Santiago’s undoing. Not to mention his own. He decided to appeal to her one last time.
Less confrontational
, he told himself.

“Just think it over,” he began. “Message me if you change your mind. Ultimately, it’s your decision.”

“Yes. It is,” she agreed. “And I don’t need to think about it since I’m certain I won’t change my mind.”

The words of Julia Simmons crossed Tyler’s thoughts.
Be careful, Mr. Cain. This case might end up carrying you into the deep end of the pool
. And it had. Deeper than he’d imagined.

This case had begun as a much-needed distraction from his usual pathetic clients. Then it escalated into a high-stakes gamble. Now he feared he had bet too many chips. Perhaps it was time to fold.

While the car carried him toward home in the AutoDrive lane Tyler made a decision.

“I’m done with this case,” he told the windshield, resolutely. “I’ll bill for time served. Then I’ll resign.”

The car responded by saying, “AutoDrive disengaging. Switching to manual mode.”

“My thoughts exactly,” he said. He took the steering wheel, the small measure of control it afforded a welcome change of pace from the unruly mess he had made during the past twenty-four hours.

Julia noticed
three brochures lying on the table beside an unoccupied waiting-room chair. She selected the middle one, titled
Genetic Screening: The Loving Choice
. She took a seat and began reading. The opening paragraph seemed familiar. It could easily have been paraphrased from one of the many columns on the subject she had published during her years working for RAP Syndicate.

Julia recalled praising the insurance companies and physicians who had created the Health Assurance network. It made sense to give parents who had opted for genetic prescreening lower rates, since their offspring showed dramatically fewer incidences of disability and disease. Within a few years nearly half of all new mothers paid lower premiums and deductibles than their “blind conception” counterparts. Doctors would only accept new patients who had been prescreened, an easy way to cut costs for everyone. Before long it became difficult to find a pediatrician unless you had prescreened. Only a handful of older doctors on their way to retirement were willing to treat the higher-cost kids. Even they began demanding cash payments up front, since, they discovered, healthcare authorities questioned every treatment before delaying or denying payment. So in less than a decade, Julia recalled, financial prudence had pushed nearly every woman away from blind conception toward what the brochure called
the loving choice
.

Julia noticed her hand cradling her tummy. Had the passion she’d enjoyed with Troy made today’s visit more than research for another dark zone story? She had felt a bit queasy before breakfast. Did morning sickness occur within twenty-four hours? If so, would a urine sample even detect pregnancy this early?

She shook off the questions, reminding herself she had always felt slightly nauseated when preparing to deceive.

The first lie had occurred when she went online to make an eight a.m. appointment for Troy and a ten a.m. appointment for herself. Julia tried to imagine the look that must have been on her husband’s face when a nurse handed him the sample container a few hours earlier. He must have turned bright red. The thought prompted a quiet snigger.

The second lie had taken place a few minutes earlier when Julia checked in for her own appointment. “My name is Julia Simmons,” she had said. “I’m here for my preconception consultation.”

The process was pretty straightforward. The male partner submitted a sample so the lab could test the viability of his sperm. The potential mother then received an examination to determine whether she was a good candidate for implantation. What exactly that entailed Julia didn’t know; probably checking to confirm the woman wasn’t already pregnant, her ovaries still produced healthy eggs, and her uterus could maintain a pregnancy. Assuming all was well, the woman would be scheduled for some sort of ovarian stimulation to harvest as many eggs as possible for fertilization. The more embryos produced, the brochure explained, the more options from which to choose the best possible offspring.

“Julia Davidson?”

The voice didn’t sound familiar. Nor had Julia given her maiden name. She looked toward an open door where a cute, thirtyish woman stood as if inviting her to enter. Julia stuffed the brochure in her purse to finish reading later.

“I’m Julia,” she said with an inquisitive smile. “Have we met?”

“No. But I’m a big fan of your column.”

Of course.

“Oh, um, thanks,” Julia muttered while glancing around the room. Two of the five women seated in the waiting room were flashing warm grins in her direction. So much for undercover research.

She walked toward the woman and glanced at her name tag. “Hello, Lynette. Very pleased to meet you.”

A lie. She hadn’t wanted to meet anyone while trying to stay under the radar. No matter, she reassured herself, as long as she avoided hinting at the real reason for her visit.

As soon as the door closed behind them Lynette became as giddy as a teenage girl suddenly face-to-face with her favorite pop star. She caught Julia by surprise with a hug. “I can’t tell you what an honor it is to have you visit our office,” Lynette was saying over Julia’s shoulder.

“Oh my,” Julia said with a gentle pat on Lynette’s back. Rather than taking the hint to separate, however, the woman tightened her squeeze. Julia finally pulled herself away.

“Sorry,” Lynette said with a wink. “My partner tells me I get a bit over-enthusiastic.”

Julia smiled weakly. “No worries.”

They stood for a few more seconds until Lynette finally remembered her role. “This way,” she said, extending her arm toward a scale.

Julia went through the motions as if planning for an in vitro selection pregnancy with her husband Troy.

“I must confess,” Lynette said while taking Julia’s pulse, “I was shocked when I recognized your face. Julia Davidson is the last woman I would have expected to go with Troy Simmons.”

She knows Troy?

“I met him this morning. He seemed…” she paused as if trying to find a different word.

“Uptight?”

“Well, yes.” Lynette appeared embarrassed. “But very handsome,” she added as a consolation.

Julia felt suddenly protective. “We’ve been married for six months.”

“I understand,” Lynette said with consequence.

“Understand what?”

“The six-month bug. Pretty common here.”

Lynette seemed to notice Julia’s puzzled expression.

“We get quite a few couples in here trying to seal the partnership.”

“Seal? What do you mean?”

“You know, making a kid together. Nothing bonds two people like a mini-us.”

“Right,” Julia said.

“I could tell right away Troy was different than most of the guys we see.”

“How’s that?”

“He didn’t accept the stimulant aids for starters.”

“Stimulant aids?”

“A gentle term for porn. He said he would be fine without it. Seemed a bit embarrassed by the offer.”

Julia smiled at the description of her noble gentleman. Memories of their recent love-fest would have been more than adequate to aid Troy’s contribution to the ruse.

“When I realized who you were I assumed there must have been some mistake. Julia Davidson married?”

“I guess wonders never cease,” Julia offered.

“You can say that again.” Lynette was shaking her head while jotting down the last of Julia’s stats. She handed her a cup. “I’ll need a urine sample, then we’ll draw some blood.”

Julia nodded.

“I almost got married once,” Lynette said as Julia was turning the doorknob.

“Is that right?”

“Yep.”

“Why almost?” Julia asked.

Lynette flashed a wide grin. “I guess I discovered your columns in the nick of time!”

The woman was shaking her head as if amazed by the irony as Julia slipped into the hallway toward the designated bathroom.

After capturing a urine sample Julia stood in front of the mirror. The same mirror, she assumed, Troy had looked into two hours earlier. She wondered how she would feel if this had been a real appointment rather than an act. It felt unseemly standing in the same spot where her husband had donated half of the required ingredients; as if they were two workers on an assembly line rather than participants in an intimate, one-flesh union.

“So this is how babies are made,” she said to the woman in the mirror.

Two quick raps on the door followed by a muffled voice. “Ms. Davidson? Is everything OK?” Apparently she had fallen behind the usual assembly time line.

Julia took a deep breath in anticipation of the next scene of her performance. Then she opened the door. “Everything’s fine. Please, call me Julia.”

Lynette smiled at the invitation. “OK, Julia. Let’s go to the consultation room to discuss next steps and options.”

Julia’s phone, the one she was supposed to have turned off in the waiting room, rang. Lynette looked at her with playful condemnation. She apologized while retrieving the device from the bottom of her purse and then glancing at the screen.

Tyler Cain.

She started to tap the
IGNORE
icon but hesitated while trying to recall what might have prompted the call. Did he have another dark zone contact she might interview? Another question about the Santiago case?

“Do you need to take that?” Lynette asked thoughtfully.

“Do you mind?” she asked while tapping the
ACCEPT
icon.

“Second door on the left,” Lynette whispered while pointing down the hall. “I’ll join you there in a minute.”

Julia nodded at Lynette while turning her attention to the voice on the phone. “This is Julia.”

“Hi, Ms. Simmons,” Tyler began. “Can you talk?”

Julia began walking in the direction of the consultation room. “For a second. What’s up?”

“I just wanted to bring you up to speed on the Santiago situation.”

Situation?

“I’ve decided to end the investigation.”

“Really? Did you find out who—”

“No I didn’t,” he said as if mad at the question. “But the judge isn’t taking my advice; or rather the judge’s aide. Either way, I don’t like to waste people’s money. If they won’t listen to me, I can’t help them.”

Julia waited for more. Tyler remained quiet. Was that it? If so, why call Julia about the decision? If he had more, why not just say it?

“And?” she prodded.

“And, um…” A hesitation. “And I just wanted to say thanks for your help.”

Julia sensed the call was about more than wrapping up the loose end of thanking a source. What wasn’t Tyler saying?

“Are you sure there isn’t more?”

“Like what?” he said too quickly. And too defensively.

“I don’t know.” She recalled their last conversation. “Did you identify any other potential leads?”

“Like Evan Dimitri?”

“Well, not him specifically. But yeah, people who might want to protect NEXT rather than harm it?”

Another long silence. Julia sensed Tyler struggling with an internal tug-of-war. Why? What had he really called to tell her?

“Mr. Cain? Is there something else you want to—”

“Like I said,” he interrupted. “I wanted to thank you for your help and let you know I’m off the case.”

“OK. Thanks for the update,” she said in puzzled deference.

“And I appreciate your keeping our conversations strictly confidential.”

“Of course.”

“Good luck on your dark zone story. I’ll let you know if I think of other leads on that front.”

“Please do,” she said before realizing the call had ended.

After a few seconds Julia noticed she was standing in the doctor’s consultation room, the place where she would learn about next steps and options. Julia walked toward one of two seats positioned before a modestly cluttered desk. Her eyes landed on a small grouping of photographs on the wall that depicted what appeared to be a ski trip with friends; an older couple, possibly Lynette’s parents; and Lynette sitting with two other women toasting the photographer with glasses filled with a dark wine: a celebration of some sort, possibly her graduation from medical school?

Then she noticed the diploma.
UNIVERSITY OF COLORADO
was stenciled boldly across the top, followed by smaller text she couldn’t read, presumably the same congratulatory script used on countless other certificates ending with “has conferred upon” before the graduate’s name; in this case,
LYNETTE ROSE WRIGHT
. Then more small text followed by
DOCTOR OF MEDICINE
.

As if on cue, the graduate entered the room. Julia felt old as she watched Lynette remove her doctor’s smock. Stylish and pretty, Lynette reminded Julia of Maria a few years back. She appeared to be in her late twenties, thirty tops. More like the unattached, childless girlfriend with whom you would go shopping than an MD to whom you would go for pregnancy advice.

“All set?” Lynette asked.

“Yes, thank you. Nothing urgent.”

“Good.” Lynette sat beside Julia rather than occupying the seat behind the desk. Then she tapped her tablet screen and held it between them for shared viewing: a checklist of steps followed by a series of questions.

“We’ve completed most of the pre-consultation items.”

Julia glanced at the list. Only a few boxes remained unchecked.

“I need to review the lab results to confirm what I’ve seen today,” Lynette explained, “but on the whole I’d say you shouldn’t have any problems.” She looked to Julia with a congratulatory smile.

Julia felt herself tear up in response to the gesture. The reaction embarrassed her. “I’m sorry,” she said while reaching for a tissue.

“Don’t be,” Lynette replied while touching her famous client’s forearm. “This is very good news for a woman of your age.”

A woman of my age?

“Half of the women I see past age thirty-five aren’t good candidates.”

“Half?”

“More maybe,” Lynette explained.

“So only half of the women my age can have a child?”

“Half of the women your age who make appointments with my office. The rest don’t want a child.”

“Of course,” said Julia.

“Of those who do, less than half are good candidates for in vitro implantation. There are a dozen reasons.”