Baby Please Don't Go: A Novel (29 page)

“Maybe I will call my lawyer,” she said. “Can I think about it?”

“Sure,” the detective said. “You think about it all you want while I call the D.A.’s night desk and see what else we can charge you with.”

“That’s fine,” Natalie said, holding out her wrists, assuming she was about to be handcuffed again and taken to a holding cell.

One of the officers advanced with cuffs in hand. The detective waved him off. “We don’t need to handcuff Mrs. Mannheim. Just give her a seat in the hall. She wants time to think.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I appreciate the courtesy.”

“Oh,” he said. “I’m not being courteous. I want you to think about telling the truth and making the inevitable easier on all concerned. You’re on probation, and the D.A.’s recommendation to the sentencing judge counts for quite a bit. I’m giving you a chance to think about things and do the right thing. That’s a full confession. I can guarantee you the D.A. will smile kindly on that. He’s a busy man, and your admission will save him time, money, and human resources. That’s your best value. Think about it.”

Natalie sat on a hard bench in the hallway outside of the interrogation room. Her finger traced the lines of graffiti marked on the wall behind the bench. The nausea returned, and she felt so dizzy that she leaned across the bench to lie down, her head painfully up against the wall. She couldn’t get comfortable, and after a few moments more she stood up, walked a few paces to the interrogation room door, and knocked.

The head detective opened the door and motioned for her to come in.

“I’ll give you your statement,” she said, “but first I better talk to my attorney. I’ll make sure he doesn’t talk me out of it. I want to cooperate and get the best deal I can. I’m no fool.”

The detective looked around at the other police in the room and winked.

“Good move, Mrs. Mannheim. I wasn’t playing good cop. You make this easier on us, and we have no motive to make things worse for you.”

“Yeah,” said H.M. “We don’t need to make things worse for you. You’re pretty good at doing that for yourself.”

“Shut up, Abramovitz,” the detective said. “Clock out.”

Abramovitz said nothing and walked out of the room, passing close enough to Natalie to shoot her a malicious grin. She said nothing, but she felt quite ill. She hoped she wouldn’t puke.

Three days later, the county prosecutor told the judge that Natalie had believed that the Hurt Man was a convicted felon and that she knew or should have known that it was a clear violation of her probation to meet with him.

Whether or not she would eventually be convicted of the criminal conspiracy and solicitation charges, the judge ordered her to be remanded to the custody of the state without bail while awaiting trial.

Freel looked at Natalie and shrugged as she was being led away. “Don’t worry,” he said to her, shouting halfway across the courtroom.

Natalie wouldn’t look at him. She blamed him for being arrested. His dealer had been busted for distribution and was ratting out everyone left and right and cooperating with the police. She should never have trusted Freel. He was as stupid as every man she had ever known.

Back in his office after his unpleasant experience in court, broke and overwhelmed, and not interested in caring for Augie (Natalie had lied to Lock about having a full-time babysitter), Freel contacted a nanny who advertised her services on Craigslist and, after a ten-minute interview with the first candidate provided, hired her. He was too busy to check her references.

How he’d find the money to pay her in two weeks was another matter.

44

Several days later, Freel drove three hours out to the State Correctional Institution in Muncy, Pennsylvania, where he would meet with Natalie. Acting as her attorney, he would be able to meet with her in person, not separated by Plexiglas, and talk confidentially.

Once inside, he was shown to a small conference room, sparsely furnished with a few chairs and a beat-up wooden desk. An oversized American flag hung limp on a stand in the corner. After fifteen minutes, Natalie was brought to the room. She seated herself at the table. Freel had a small pile of file folders and a notepad on the desk.

Without greeting her, Freel assumed the persona of humorless, all-business attorney. He got right to the point and spoke so softly Natalie had a difficult time hearing him.

“There’s a lawyer in upstate New York who specializes in connecting birth mothers with high-net-worth couples looking to adopt,” Freel said. “The birth mothers like it because they get to feel warm and fuzzy about the affluent lives their brats will have.”

“How do you know this guy?” Natalie asked. Her prison uniform draped baggily over her body.

“I read about him when he was accused of being a middleman in the sale of babies. They couldn’t prove it. He’s still in business and was thrilled when I told him your situation. Mostly thrilled by the high fee he’s going to collect from the adoptive parents.”

“And what’s the situation you told him about?” Natalie asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Freel.

“What about Lock? How about if he goes to court or something to find out where the baby went?”

“He can’t,” Freel said, smirking. “The state adoption agency—which will okay the adoption once you and the kid’s new parents sign the forms—would never reveal the identity of the adoptive parents. There’s a law against it. Plus, Lock can’t prove he has any legal standing to make the request.”

“So there’s no way he’ll ever see the baby again,” she said.

“The only way that could happen would be if the baby grows up and wants to find his biological parents. He’d probably have to sue to get that information, but he’d probably prevail. But don’t worry about it. None of that’s going to happen, and even if it does, it will be decades from now, and what will you care?”

Natalie drummed her fingers on the tabletop.

“Okay, how illegal is this?” Natalie asked. “I want to get out of here someday. And I know enough to know you can’t sell a baby to the highest bidder. Isn’t that human trafficking?”

“Who’s selling a baby? You’re not. I’m not. Adoptive parents are not allowed to pay birth mothers anything other than legit medical expenses and rent and food and things like that, and only during the pregnancy. So, they won’t be paying you a dime.”

“I know you have a way around that.”

“The money that can be paid to birth mothers is highly scrutinized. We can’t make any money that way. On the other hand, the fees paid to attorneys—that’s kind of a gray area.”

“Gray area?”

“That’s right,” he said. “I can show a lot of hours and expenses I put into finding the adoptive parents, and by agreement, they’re going to pay my fee.”

Natalie exhaled as if she was blowing smoke from a cigarette. “So you’re going to collect a fee from the adoptive parents for your so-called work in placing the baby? How much are you getting?” Natalie lowered her voice and whispered, “And how much of that will I get?”

Freel shook his head in impatience. “Listen, Nat. We’re in a tough spot. I’ve got like five cents left. The mortgage on my house is overdue. Rent on my office is due. I’ve got to pay the nanny. The Lambo needs to go in the shop, and I’ve got a million other expenses. We have to do something. And keep this in the forefront of your mind—this adoption is going to be best for your son. He’ll get a real chance in life from parents who will absolutely dote on him. Don’t worry, we’re not going to get into any trouble. Guaranteed.”

“Who got disbarred after his third year as a practicing attorney, Mr. Guaranteed?”

“I did, but that was different. I was an idiot then, but now I’m smarter. The attorney’s fees for adoptions—it’s definitely a gray area, meaning it’s okay. I’m getting eighty-one thou for my professional activities.”

“You? You’re getting?” Her eyes opened wide.

“We’re getting,” Freel said.

“And what are those so-called professional activities you’re billing me for?” Natalie asked.

“I set it up this way. You hired me to do a ton of work to find adoptive parents, help you identify a suitable couple. And by the time I did, I had racked up one hundred and eighty hours. At $450 an hour, that comes to eighty-one thou. The adoptive parents have already agreed. No one could prove how much time I spent actually working, but it doesn’t matter, and anyway, no one’s going to ask any questions. This is a clean deal. The New York lawyer assures me the Pennsylvania state adoption agency will rubber stamp an uncontested adoption between parties.”

“If he’s wrong,” Natalie said, “we’re screwed. Selling a baby is probably a million years in jail.”

“Forget about it, Natalie. All you need to know is we’re getting eighty-one thousand dollars. Split two ways. Relax.”

“How fast can this happen?”

“We can hand the child over in seventy-two hours,” he said. “The legal adoption process is a bit longer, maybe a couple of months. But I’ll get my fee right away.”

“Who’s taking care of Augie in the meantime?”

“Got a nanny. Checked her out. The baby’s fine. It’s better for you to stop referring to him by name. Just call him the baby. That’s what the New York lawyer told me. He said there can be separation issues for the birth mother. I doubt that will be the case here, but let’s take his advice on that one.”

Freel stood up and gathered his files. No guard was in the room, and he and Natalie embraced, hugging each other quickly. He broke away from her, turned, and left. But he did try a sincere smile on the way out.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he whispered. “Things are a little rough right now, but I’ve got your back, and we’ll be together sooner than you think.”

The next afternoon, Lock made the same trip Freel did. He intended to visit Natalie and beg her to influence Freel to let him just see Augie. He meticulously rehearsed everything he was going to say. He wanted to believe Natalie might still have a shred of affection or respect for him and agree to his request.

As he drove through the rolling hills of central Pennsylvania, a light snow started to fall. Lock loved that. The snow lifted his spirits. He worked on the words he’d use to convince Natalie to see it his way.

Listen, Natalie. No matter whose son Augie really is, the truth is, at least as of now, your baby thinks of me as his father. I know that has to come to an end, but before it does, he must be—he has to be—in some kind of emotional turmoil, not seeing either of us. It’s impossible for you to hold him while you’re locked up, but I can. I can give him real, genuine, heart-felt love. I just want to hold him, and I’m certain he wants to be held. I’m begging you to tell Freel to let me see him—even just once—and I promise I’ll leave you alone from now on. In the name of what we once had, please help me make this happen. Please, Natalie. Just this once.

He walked quickly and joyfully through the parking lot and stated his business to the desk clerk. The clerk told him to take a seat.

Lock rehearsed those words again and again. He had his speech down pat and promised himself he wouldn’t let his emotions get the best of him while speaking with Natalie. He knew he could do it without tearing up, and he knew Natalie’s maternal instinct, buried deep as it was, would recognize the truth of what he would say. After all, didn’t she love Augie too?

He would soon be holding Augie in his arms again. A rush of delight shot through him.

A few minutes later, a guard approached Lock, who stood up expectantly.

The guard spoke loudly, “Yup, you’re on the visitor’s list, all right, but she refuses to see you today, buddy. You’ll have to leave. Immediately.”

Lock didn’t sleep much that night. He got up early and went to the 6:30 a.m. Rise & Shine meeting at the clubhouse.

Afterward, he drove into the parking lot of Freel’s office. He walked to the door slowly and deliberately.

There was no receptionist, and Freel’s office door was wide open. He walked in and saw Freel on the phone. When Freel looked up, his mouth dropped open and he hung up. He set his pen on his desk and stood up. Freel scanned Lock, looking for a sign that he had a weapon. He saw nothing that alarmed him.

“What do you need, Gilkenney?” asked Freel.

Lock stepped forward.

“Look, Freel, I’m only going to say this once. I know Augie is your son, but I’ve been a father to him since before he was born. I went to Natalie’s Lamaze classes with her, for the love of God. I got up in the middle of the night for months to feed him and change his diapers. I held him and sang to him. I learned how to make him laugh. I can accept that I’ve lost him, but please. All I want to do is hold him, to see him again. One more time. Let me hold him. Just for a minute. Let me say goodbye to him. You’re human, man. Make that happen and I swear you’ll never see me again.”

Freel stared silently.

“I’m begging you, Freel. Let me say goodbye to the one person in this world I love more than anything.”

“Wish I could help you, Gilkenney, but I can’t.”

Lock’s bluster left him and he stood there deflated and dizzy. “You can if you want to. What harm would it do to let me say goodbye?”

“You have no say in Augie’s life,” Freel said. “I’m sorry, but that’s the way it has to be.”

“Please, Freel.” Lock’s voice cracked.

“I gave you good advice before,” Freel said, “when you were flipping out in my driveway a few weeks ago. And remember, I never called the police on you, though I could have. And now I’m going to give you some more advice. You should go about your own business. Natalie and I decided the best thing for the child—for our son—would be for him to be with a more traditional type of family than we could offer him.”

“What do you mean?” Lock swallowed hard and felt his eyes burning.

“This will be hard for you to hear, Lock, but Augie’s been adopted.”

“What?” He lowered himself into a chair.

“I’m not heartless,” said Freel. “If the kid were around, sure, I’d let you hug him goodbye. But that’s not the case. We arranged a private adoption through an attorney who represents the adoptive parents. Augie’s already with them. Out of state. Natalie and I both signed the Termination of Parental Rights documents. It’s all over. We don’t even know where he is, and we’ll never know. That was one of the terms the adoptive parents insisted on. They don’t want us to change our minds and come looking for the baby. We couldn’t change our minds even if we wanted to. The release is final and unconditional. It’s a
fait accompli
. And what should make you happy is that what we did is what’s best for the boy.”

Lock’s face turned red. He couldn’t look at Freel. “Where’s my son, you son-of-a-bitch? I’ll kill you.” Lock stood up and took a step toward Freel. Freel spun around and retrieved a putter from a black, leather golf bag behind his desk.

“Get out, Lock,” he said. “I could take you out right now and it’d be self-defense. I’m not going to tell you to leave again.”

Holding the club in one hand, Freel pressed a button on his speakerphone. A dial tone could be heard throughout the room. Freel dialed 911 with a quivering finger.

Within a second, the dispatcher answered. “Brandywine County 911, what is your emergency?”

“Okay, okay,” Lock said, raising his hands. He turned and walked out of the office.

“911. What is your emergency?”

“My mistake, operator,” Freel said. “I misdialed.”

Lock reversed out of the parking spot. He was on autopilot, observing the rules of the road but not really conscious of where he was headed or what he wanted to do. A thousand scenarios played themselves out in his head. He couldn’t have felt any worse had he received news that Augie was dead. Actually, maybe this was worse.

He fantasized about breaking into the adoption lawyer’s office to steal the records that would reveal the identity of the adoptive parents—although he had no way of learning who that lawyer was or where he or she was located.