Finder's Fee (14 page)

“Are you going to let me go with you to find Abel?”

Straight to the heart of things.
Judith didn't know how to respond.
How do I answer a question like that?

“You're not going to return him to me, are you?” Ida pressed.

Judith stammered and Luke came to her aide. “I can promise you, Ida, we mean Abel no harm. To be honest, we don't even know why we've been chosen to find him. I know it's hard to trust strangers — it's almost impossible for me — but we need you to trust us.”

“Why?”

Luke frowned. “Ida. We didn't blow up your house. Someone else did. Someone wants you dead because you know too much, and I don't think they're going to give up just because they failed the first time … We need a better place to talk.”

“You're not going to find much privacy around here,” Judith said.

“Antarctica may be the last place on earth with any real privacy. We'll just have to make do.”

Judith watched as Luke glanced around. He began by staring at the ceiling and it took a moment for her to realize that he was looking for and identifying video cameras. “Follow me.”

They moved through the crowds like salmon moving upstream. Their only advantage was that they carried no luggage, which made things a little easier. They passed a Starbucks kiosk surrounded by customers in need of caffeine; several fast food establishments, all tied to some major food chain; and two bookstores filled with the latest
New York Times
bestsellers.

Near the center of the terminal they found a sport's bar called the End Zone and Luke worked his way in. A twenty-something woman with straight blonde hair with red highlights that reminded Judith of a redwood plank greeted them.

Patrons took up about half the seats and booths. Televisions were situated around the facility with various sports programs. One showed CNN's “The Situation Room.” Wolf Blitzer held court.

“Good afternoon,” Luke said. “Do you have anything in one of the back corners?” She gave him a strange look. “I need a break from the crowds.”

“Ain't that the truth,” the young woman said. “It gets on my nerves, too. This way please.”

One minute later they settled in a booth in the most distant corner of the facility. A waitress arrived and dropped off three menus. Before she could leave, Luke said, “Wait a sec.” He removed his wallet, drew a twenty from it, and set it on the end of the table. “I wonder if it's possible to get the music turned up a little.” He didn't explain his reasons to the waitress and she asked no questions. The twenty had done all
the talking necessary. A few moments later the background music — music from the seventies — rose in volume.

“You are one weird man, Luke Becker.” Judith shook her head in disbelief.

“If you only knew.” He picked up the menu. “Everyone order something.”

“I'm not hungry,” Ida said.

“Of course you are.” Luke opened her menu. “Unless you'd like to stand out to everyone who walks by.”

The corners of Ida's mouth turned down but she looked at the menu. Luke's eyes went elsewhere, scanning the ceiling and walls.

“Did you know that some California restaurants are equipped to eavesdrop on their customers? They even post a warning on their doors.”

“No, I didn't know that and I'm not sure I'd care if I did.”

“You should. Nearly nine hundred million dollars is spent on eavesdropping equipment every year in the U.S. Still, this is the best we're going to be able to do. They can't monitor every eating establishment in the airport.”

The waitress returned, eager to be of help, and Judith was sure, eager to earn another large tip. Luke ordered a turkey sandwich, Ida a salad, and Judith opted for soup. Nerves had made her stomach uncooperative.

Alone once again, Luke asked Ida, “Do you feel up to answering questions?”

“I don't know that I should.”

“I can appreciate your confusion and mistrust, but we need to know more about you and your son. Back at your home you said something about not talking to the police; that it was part of a deal. What deal?”

“I'm not supposed to talk about it.”

Luke's face darkened. “Ida, someone has taken Abel and destroyed your house with the intent of killing you.”

“I don't know why they would do that. I've done everything I was supposed to do.” Judith could hear the tears in her voice.

“Stay strong, Ida. I can't speak for them — whoever ‘them' is, but it looks to me like someone is trying to cover their trail. If so, then something or someone has them frightened. Blowing up the house was a desperate act.”

Judith wondered if it would have happened if she and Luke hadn't shown up on Ida's doorstep. She chastised herself. It didn't matter now.
What's done is done. Focus on the present.

Ida looked to Judith but said nothing. Still, Judith knew she wanted direction. Judith took her hand and gave a gentle squeeze. “We've given you no reason to trust us, Ida. We know that. In some ways, we're victims too. I want to help. Luke wants to help. But we need as much information as possible. What did you mean when you spoke of ‘the deal'?”

“Abel isn't really my son.”

Despite her earlier suspicions, the words stung Judith. “What?”

“Ed and I couldn't have children. Actually, it was Ed. His body produced an antibody that made him infertile. He felt horrible about it. Men are that way. He felt like he had failed as a husband and as a man. Infertility isn't that rare, really. About 25 percent of men have a problem. Knowing that didn't help him. He didn't care about other men, just his failing.”

“Then how — ”

“I'm a surrogate.”

The table fell silent, the void filled with the noise from the televisions and the patrons whiling away their time before boarding whatever airline awaited them.

“So, that means …” Luke seemed reluctant to say it.

Ida spared him. “It means that Abel is the product of ART.”

“Art who?” Luke wondered.

“Not Art the name,” Judith corrected. “A-R-T: assisted reproductive technology.” Ida looked at her and had the same stunned expression as Luke. Judith spoke softly. “I can't bear children. Allen and I considered fertility treatment, but it never worked out.”

“It sounds like you got an education.” Luke shifted in his seat.

“That's all I got.” Judith turned to Ida. “Go on.”

“Then you'll understand why I went through everything I did. In vitro fertilization isn't new and not even unusual anymore. The first IVF child was born to a British couple in 1978, thirty years ago. Our problem was money. The procedures cost between eight to ten thousand dollars per cycle. My husband didn't make much money. Our whole married life we lived from paycheck to paycheck. We ran up credit cards and took a second mortgage on the house, but traditional IVF and GIFT procedures didn't work.”

“Is ‘gift' another acronym? I thought I'd ask before displaying my ignorance again.”

“Gamete Intrafallopian Transfer,” Judith explained. “It's not used often, maybe 2 percent of ART procedures. Something like three hundred GIFT babies are born in the U.S. every year. U-S stands for — ”

“I know what U.S. stands for, Judith. I'm only moderately stupid.”

Judith smiled, but it didn't last long. Maintaining humor was impossible. To Ida she asked, “ZIFT?”

Ida nodded.

“Translation, please.” Luke rubbed his eyes.

Ida waited for Judith to explain.

“Zygote Intrafallopian Transfer. Instead of implanting gametes from both parents in the woman's fallopian tube for fertilization, the fertilization takes place in vitro and the zygote — you know what a zygote is?”

Luke nodded. “I stayed awake in college. A zygote is a fertilized ovum.”

“Right. In a ZIFT procedure, the zygote is implanted in the mother.”

“And this is the procedure you underwent?” Luke asked Ida.

“Yes.”

Judith felt confused. “If my memory is right, ZIFT treatments are as expensive as GIFT.”

“In my case, it was several thousand more.” Ida drew a finger below her eyes. “We were tapped.”

“Then how did you afford another procedure?” Judith asked softly, trying not to tip her over the emotional precipice.

She lowered her head and stared at the table. As she opened her mouth to speak the waitress arrived with the food. Ida froze. Once the plates were set and the waitress gave Luke her biggest you're-my-favorite-customer grin, they were alone in the corner booth again.

Ida picked up her fork and pushed a cherry tomato around the edge of the salad. “We had given up all hope when I got a call. A man said that my doctor had recommended me to a special program. They claimed to have made great strides in the field of fertility treatment. I had a moment of joy but then explained that we could no longer afford the procedure.” She set the fork down. “He said everything would be free. All I had to do was allow them to follow the child's development.”

“And you agreed?” Luke tried to look neutral but Judith detected his abhorrence. The man was nothing if not consistent.

“My husband and I talked it over and decided that the opportunity was too good to turn down.”

“So you called them back?”

She shook her head. “They insisted that they be the ones to call. The man explained that there were many women in my situation and if word got out that a certain number of procedures were being done for free they would be inundated with tearful pleas. Complete secrecy was the price we'd have to pay.”

“And that didn't set off alarms in your mind?”

“Shut up, Luke,” Judith snapped. No man could fully understand what women like Ida — like her — went through.

“I'm just saying that such behavior on the part of a stranger is indicative of … of … What are you looking at?”

Judith's eyes were fixed to the one television showing news. “I think we may have a problem.”

Luke turned and groaned.

On the screen played video footage of what had once been Ida's house. The bar had the volume down so as not to interfere with the other stations, but Judith was certain she heard her name.

S
o?” Detective Ben Wilson raised an eyebrow to add the question mark to his unfinished inquiry. He stood near
the executive elevator with a youthful man showing a head of disheveled brown hair, clear eyes, and a day's stubble on his chin. He wore a vest that identified him as a member of the forensics unit.

“All clear. We found a bug in the phone of the main office as well as one behind the electrical outlet plate near the desk and one by the fireplace. There was also a small spy camera — actually a wireless, two-point-four gigahertz, hi-res, four hundred lines, three-point-six millimeter, seventy degree angle lens, delivered over seven hundred feet L.O.S. — ”

“Dirk?”

“Yeah?”

“Faster and funnier.”

Dirk Markos blinked as if processing the comment. “Oh. Sorry. It's a wireless camera that can deliver a decent signal up to seven hundred feet line of sight if there aren't too many walls around.”

“So someone was watching and listening to Ms. Find?”

“No doubt about that. The microphones and camera are top of the line.”

“Seven hundred feet means the spy could be anywhere in the building.”

“It's worse than that. The seven-hundred-foot range is line-of-sight so its practical distance is less. If our peeper is located on the floor below and behind closed doors, then the signal would be even less. I figured that someone might not want to be on the same floor as the person he or she is watching, so I took a look around for a repeater.”

“You mean a transmitter that increases the distance?” Wilson saw where the forensics tech was going.

“Right, this little baby sees what it sees and transmits it to a receiver which has more juice. The problem with these little
guys is that the battery runs down in about six hours or so. Some will run longer but they don't have to broadcast far and for an extended time. My guess is that this camera is a cut above the stuff you get off the Internet but it still is confined to the laws of physics.”

“This leads where?”

“I found a repeater in Mr. Find's office.”

Wilson had been a cop too long to be surprised by much, but that caught him off guard. “That a fact? His office is right next to Ms. Find's.”

“It could be coincidence.” Dirk smiled.

“Yeah, right. Coincidence. We know how often that happens. I think I'll have a little talk with Mr. Find. Tell me about the secretary's phone.”

“Senior administrative assistant. I made that mistake when she came by.”

“She came by? I told her to take a long lunch and give you guys time to do your work.”

“She didn't interfere, just picked up a couple of files she said she needed and then left. Anyway, I located the device that did the damage. It's mostly electronic smoke and mirrors designed to make noise and deliver a slight shock to the user. I've never seen anything quite like it. I need to study it more, but my best guess right now is that it was supposed to fry the phone's electronics, which it did, but with greater force than intended.”

“How do you know what was intended?”

The tech shrugged. “I don't know it; I suspect it. If the perp wanted to do real damage it would have been easy enough to do. He could have blown the woman's ear off. For now, I'm assuming it was meant to be some kind of warning.”

“A warning about what?”

“Beats me, Detective.”

Wilson could see the fury building in Marlin Find. His jaw tightened so much that the detective expected to hear teeth crack. The slick-dressed executive sat in his high-back leather chair that Wilson was sure would cost him a week's salary and he squeezed the armrests. Wilson could see the man's muscles work under the shirt. Find might be a little short but he certainly seemed in shape, not that that frightened him. Over the course of his career he had arrested gang members and thugs who lived only to pump iron and sell drugs.