Unintended Consequences - By Marti Green Page 0,52
next thing you know they’re embarrassed to admit you’re their parents.”
“Ah, the teenage years. I remember them fondly.”
“Tommy Jr. is heading off for college in the fall. I don’t know how Patty is going to handle that. She already gets weepy when she thinks about it.”
“How about you? You ready for that?”
Tommy shook his head. “I remember what happened when I left for college. It was the beginning of moving out of the family, into my own life. I know it’s good for him. I know as parents we’ve got to let go, but still, it’s hard to do. I guess that’s why I’m so troubled by this Calhoun guy. I’m having a hard time letting Tommy Jr. fly the nest and he’s almost 18 and healthy. How could Calhoun let go of his sick four-year-old? I just don’t get it.”
Bruce nodded. “It’s hard to put ourselves in the minds of other people. We bring to these cases our own circumstances that make us the people we are. But we shouldn’t judge decisions made by others who’ve had different life experiences. Unless they’ve broken the law.”
“Well, the book is still out on Calhoun, as far as I’m concerned.”
The elevator reached the lobby and they headed out the door into bright sunshine. “Well,” Bruce said, “maybe after you get to Rochester, the answers will be as clear as today’s weather.”
“Maybe. I sure as hell hope so.”
Tommy’s plane landed at Rochester International Airport ten minutes early despite the driving rain. He wound his way through the airport corridors to the car-rental desk and then retrieved a Toyota Camry from the parking lot. He planned to check into his hotel and then start making visits. The first would be to the county Vital Records Office. He’d called the office, of course, one of the many fruitless calls he’d made. No death certificate could be found for an Angelina Calhoun. But she wouldn’t have gone by her name. Maybe the first name would be the same, but if George had been truthful, he’d purposely stricken her real name from the medical records he’d hung around her neck.
Forty-five minutes later he stood at the front counter of the Vital Records Office. “Is Helen here by any chance?” he asked the heavy-set woman standing before him.
“Just left on a break. You can wait for her over there.” She pointed to a bench against the wall.
“How long do you think she’ll be?”
The clerk shrugged. She looked as if a smile would cause her face to crack into little pieces.
“Well, Anne? That’s your name, right?” Tommy said, noting the name tag pinned to her shirt. “Maybe you can help me until she gets back. I need to check through your death certificates for a white female child between the ages of 4 and 7, dating back between sixteen and twenty years ago.” Based on what Doc Samson had told him, Tommy figured that should cover the gamut of possible dates of death, assuming she’d succumbed to leukemia. It wasn’t a perfect calculation, but there just wasn’t time to expand the search.
Anne stared at Tommy with a blank expression.
“So, how ’bout it, Anne? Can you get me started on that?”
“You’re joking, right?”
“Nope. Deadly serious.”
“See those forms over there? Fill one out with what you’re looking for. A search like that, figure six months or so. Maybe a year.”
“I think I’ll wait for Helen to get back,” Tommy said and turned and walked to the bench against the wall. Goddamn clerks. Do they go to school to learn how to drive people crazy?
Ten minutes went by before a shapely young woman with straight black hair down to the middle of her back walked in. As she approached the front desk, Anne pointed at Tommy. “That man there was asking for you.”
Helen turned and smiled warmly. “Yes? Can I help you?”
“I’m Tommy Noorland. We spoke on the phone a few days ago. Remember? About the little girl with leukemia?”
“Yes, of course. Come on back to my desk and we can talk there.” Tommy followed her through the swinging door in the front counter to a desk in the back of the room. The first thing he noticed was a picture of Helen with a guy and a baby. The good ones are always married, he thought.
“As I told you on the phone, I’m not sure how much help we can be to you without more definitive information,” Helen said as she settled into her chair. “You don’t even know the child’s