Revenant Rising (60 page)

“The baby . . . you had to tell Chris. . . .”

“Yeah, I had to tell him Aurora was no longer pregnant at the time of the crash and that I had no fucking idea where to start looking for the infant. Dead or alive. Then, after the call ended, I had to imagine Chris relaying this information to Rachel, who maybe stood to lose a child and a grandchild before the night was out, and I had to think about how they were going to deal with Anthony, a kid already marked for life by his mother’s gross neglect.

“I had about five more minutes to wallow in all this before a nurse showed up wanting to know my relationship to Colin and Aurora Elliot. I declared myself, as I’d already done on arrival, and braced to again be asked obscenely ill-timed questions about financial responsibility. Instead, I was asked to take custodial responsibility for the Shantz infant. Shantz? Who the hell is Shantz, I wondered without really caring because all I could hear in this request was potential for one of those baby mix-ups that come to light now and then. Exactly what I didn’t need to hear while still harboring misgivings about hospital and staff. So I told the nurse to get the fuck out, she had the wrong party, but she held her ground long enough for me to remember something she was well aware of—that Aurora had once been known as Audrey Shantz.
Shantz.
The baby was right there in the hospital where he’d been born ten days before and was overdue for release, according to the hardass nurse.”

“Good lord! You must have been overjoyed.”

“Yeah, I might have been for a minute or two, then it was back to remembering the kid had a good chance of being an orphan and an even better chance of being screwed by whatever Aurora pumped into him before he was born.”

“Wait a minute. If hospital personnel knew a patient registered as Audrey Shantz was really the infamous Aurora Elliot, why wasn’t Colin informed of the baby’s birth?”

“It wasn’t until Aurora was brought in maimed and dead that anyone put two and two together and remembered that she used to be Audrey Shantz from down the road in Paradise.”

“I see. And do I understand correctly that the nurse told you the baby was
overdue
for release? Didn’t I understand Colin to say that Simon was premature? Since when are preemies sent home only ten days after birth?”

“At the time, that was my thought as well. Even though I knew diddly-shit about newborns, I did know they’re supposed to be a certain weight before they’re shoved out the door. Especially if they could be going through narcotics withdrawal. But Simon, as he came to be known, weighed close to eight pounds at birth, so that put him outside the realm of premature and made him something of an oddity because a lot of user mothers don’t carry to term. Or have such big babies. That Aurora somehow did was a significant factor in saving his life. As the pediatrician later put it, the robust birth weight gave him a distinct advantage during the initial stages of heroin withdrawal.”

Laurel bites her bottom lip so hard it turns white.

“You didn’t know he was born addicted?”

“I did, but I didn’t let myself think about the ramifications until now.”

“You need another break?”

“No, please go on.” She pours a healthy draught of single malt into her tea, something he would normally view as a waste of both Scotch and tea. “Please explain why you, and presumably Colin, thought the birth was premature . . . and why Colin still thinks it was.”

“We both were relying on Aurora’s say-so. She’d led Colin to believe the baby would arrive at Christmastime. That’s what was marked down in the pocket calendar he referred to the day of the accident. That’s what he chose to believe.”

“Believing otherwise would have led to . . . to what? Raised questions of. . . .”

“Don’t make me say it.”

“Very well, but that won’t keep me from thinking it.”

“I operate on the premise that Colin thinks it too, and prefers to stick with the original perception.”

“I see.” Laurel bites her lip again.

“To continue . . . Most babies of heroin users show withdrawal symptoms soon after birth. In the acute stage they experience fever, tremors, irritability, diarrhea, vomiting, sensitivity to light and noise, and sometimes have seizures. All that and I’ve probably left something out. They usually have feeding problems and can be at increased risk for that crib death thing—I forget the acronym.”

“SIDS.”

“Yes, that’s it. The pediatrics people gave me a crash course in infant care to prepare for taking the baby from the hospital, and the nursery staff put together enough basic supplies to get me started. A layette, I think they called it.”

“Wait, wait, wait . . . They expected
you
to take the baby from the hospital?”

“Well yeah, somebody had to. As one of the staffers explained, the hospital nursery was full to overflowing with the product of long February nights spent in northern climes with nothing else to do but procreate—she actually said that—and they didn’t have enough personnel to indulge the needs of a special-care infant—she actually said that too.”

“That’s discriminatory.”

“That would have been my reaction if I hadn’t been given so much help getting ready for the transition, and if they hadn’t been able to convince me the acute stage had been passed and none of the residual withdrawal problems were life-threatening.”

“An increased risk for SIDS isn’t life-threatening?”

“Not in the sense of requiring hospital care.”

“I suppose not, but still. . . .”

“Anyway, I was ready to transfer the baby to an efficiency unit that had been found for me at a nearby motel when I hit a bureaucratic snag because I had no written authority for taking the kid into my custody. This was the day after the accident when they were still carving away on Colin and the all-concealing snow was coming down by the foot. By then I’d updated Chris and Rachel on the situation—given them something to cling to—and released a general statement to national and international press through my New York office. I’d left word with David, and I’d sent for Bemus because I didn’t know what kind of media presence to expect. What I hadn’t thought to do was
consult
with David about the legal complications cropping up all over the place. Obtaining clear title to the infant was at the top of that list . . . Jesus, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make him sound like a piece of real estate.”

“Understood. So without Colin’s durable power of attorney or another instrument enabling claim of the infant on his behalf, your hands had to have been tied.”

“They were. Although I was empowered to act as Colin’s agent representative in the acquisition and disposal of property, I couldn’t act as guardian for him or the infant without a court order. Once David got wind of this, he was on the scene within twenty-four hours and had it sorted, as Colin would say, within another twenty-four. Something of a miracle because at first he couldn’t find a judge. It was Thanksgiving week as well as deer-hunting season, and the local judges who hadn’t gone hunting were home stuffing turkeys.”

“David mentioned that recently. I’d all but forgotten he spent Thanksgiving of ’eighty-four stranded at an airport in Detroit.”

“Right, and the same snowstorm that stranded David delayed Bemus’s arrival. But it also kept the newshounds at bay. For the first few days, I had only regional press and TV to deal with and they were pretty decent, all things considered.”

“But you were still alone, not knowing if Colin would live or die, and attempting to foster a special-care infant in a motel room.”

“Yeah, I was and ‘special care’ wouldn’t begin to describe what went into looking after that baby. Good goddammed thing he was so beautiful or it would’ve been way too easy to leave him on somebody’s doorstep. He cried
all
the time and—”

“Shit!
Now
I see. That’s what Aurora did, didn’t she? She abandoned him! She wasn’t
ever
going to claim the baby from the hospital, was she?”

“I’m afraid not. No other conclusion could be reached. Hospital records showed that she disappeared within a day of giving birth and never came back. Not alive, anyway. But that’s not the worst of it. She must have planned to dispose of the baby—sell it through a black market adoption would be my guess—because someone called the hospital a couple of days after the accident wanting to know if the deal was still on and if the Shantz infant was ready to go.”

“Son of a
bitch
! Sorry! I’m not usually this profane.”

“You needn’t apologize to me, I’ve called her a lot worse.”

Laurel focuses on her teacup, visors one hand over her eyes as though shielding against glare. “Why did she go to Michigan to give birth? Does anyone know? Did she tell Colin why after he found her?” she says without looking up.

“No one can say for sure—least of all Colin. He remembers nothing that happened after he caught up with her at the road stop.”

“What do
you
think?” Laurel looks up, squinting as though still resisting glare.

“
I
think Aurora chose the UP, as it’s called, because it was known to her and because it was an area she’d often renounced, making it less likely anyone would look for her there. I think she chose that particular medical facility because she naively thought her filthy business there would go unnoticed. But remember, that’s only theory, nothing was ever proven.”

“Do you think she planned this from the outset, from the start of the pregnancy?”

“No. I believe the scheme evolved when she ran off and started using again. She would’ve had a desperate need for money because by then, I’d convinced Colin to stop shelling out for her unauthorized expenditures. That may seem like an extreme measure, but you have to remember Colin was desperate too.”

“Yes, I know, Rayce filled me in on that.”

“Okay, then you know Colin went along with it because he thought it might bring her back. Because he still wasn’t ready to give up on her. That’s only partly theory.”

“What about the driver of the red pickup truck, Gibby Lester, the alleged drug dealer? What was his role in all this?”

“Now
there
was a son of a bitch. He made it all the way back to New York before the cops caught up with him. When questioned by Michigan authorities he knew nothing. He knew nothing to the extent he even failed to bring charges against Colin for assault, theft, and destruction of property. He said he was in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula for deer season, that he met this Audrey chick in a bar, and later on, his truck was stolen. Yeah, right. But the asshole was good in his day, I’ll give him that. He’d wormed his way out of so many indictments for possession with intent that any accusation I threw at him had to seem like a parking ticket.”

“Do you think he was her only accomplice? Do you think he alone arranged for the sale of the baby?”

“I underwrote an investigation that went on for half a year and never uncovered another direct accomplice or, for that matter, the place Aurora stayed immediately before giving birth and the ten days after. As for setting up the sale, I’ve no doubt it was Lester. Unquestionably. He had the right connections, and he had everything to gain. He’d long been on my radar as one of Aurora’s suppliers, and with her main source of funds cut off, she had to have been into Lester for some serious change. I saw him canceling her debt and then some in return for the price even a substance-exposed infant would bring on the black market.”

“Do you suppose she thought she’d get away with it?”

“I’m sure she did. Knowing her, she probably thought she could tell Colin she had a late miscarriage or stillbirth and stand a good chance of him believing her. Or at least wanting to. And I’m sure she thought her dealings with Lester would never come to light because they never had before. Not in any provable way, at least.”

“Parenthetical to this discussion. . . . ” The tape machine clicks and goes into rewind. “Perfect timing,” she says and produces a fresh tape from her bag. “Off the record, I was about to ask if you think Lester was killed by one of his own or by an outsider.”

While she reloads the machine, he pours them each a little more Scotch. “I’d immediately say one of his own if it weren’t for the similar murder on the West Coast and the murder Colin was briefly accused of here in New York. However, if you don’t mind, I’d like to save that subject for another time, another discussion.”

“Very well, I’ll hold you to that.” She restarts the tape recorder. “In the current chronology you’re again waiting for help to arrive. Did you send for anyone besides Bemus? A nanny? A pediatric nurse? Did Rachel consider coming to Portage St. Mary?”

“Rachel would have been there in a New York minute if she hadn’t been needed in England to keep Anthony reassured. I considered hiring a nanny or baby nurse, but I didn’t have the time or the means to vet one. I even considered calling my ex-wife. She probably would have come, but I couldn’t count on her being discreet. So the answer is no, just Bemus. And the good news there was when he finally did arrive on the day after Thanksgiving, he had Tom Jensen with him. Said it was his feminine intuition that told him to bring reinforcements.”

“Were they needed? Did the press eventually show up in droves? Did fans congregate and do whatever it is they do—hold candlelight vigils, place wreaths?”

“There was a crush of media attention after the snow tapered off. It didn’t last long because I didn’t cooperate beyond issuing empty statements once a day, as Colin would have wanted it. A surprising number of fans showed up, considering Colin’s band was never big in the area and had never toured Michigan north of Detroit. And yes, quite a few held vigils and brought floral tributes. Predictably, some tried to get inside the hospital and a couple actually made it. I remember one in particular, first of all, because he wasn’t a blubbering girl, and most of all, because he was an Indian—sorry, Native American—with the balls of an international paparazzo. He damn near made it into the ICU before Bemus corralled him. On the other front, the three of us figured out how to manage Simon’s needs better than expected—go ahead, grin. I can see you’re dying to.”