“But she came from an agency. They said she was a licensed nurse.” Chelsea gripped the sides of the kitchen counter behind her as the shock faded and pieces fell into place. “But she’s a nurse, and . . . and a lot of infant abductors pose as medical personnel, right?”
“That’s true.”
“Did you arrest her? Did you find her? Is Annie with her?”
“Chris is on his way over to stake out her place. We’re doing some background checks, but it’s not happening as fast as I would like. Right now, we don’t have enough evidence to get a search warrant.”
“But what about Annie?” Chelsea nibbled on a cuticle. “Isn’t she the priority?”
“We have to operate within the law.”
“I don’t care about the law. We have to save my baby!”
“Chelsea, listen to me. Helen Rosekind—or whatever her name is—she’s not going anywhere. We’re watching her. And if she has Annabelle, we have every reason to believe she’s taking very good care of her. Let’s do this right, for Annabelle’s sake.”
“I can’t wait anymore.” Chelsea pressed her hands to the sides of her face. “Annie needs us, now.”
The phone announced that her personal representative was coming on the line.
“Not now . . .” Chelsea crossed the room to disconnect the phone, but Grace waved her off.
“Finish your call.” She held up an iPhone. “I have some messages to check.”
As Chelsea reached the phone, the rep was on the line.
“This is Janet, your Sounder rep,” the voice said brightly. “How can I help you?”
“I just want to know how I can get approval for therapy,” Chelsea said. She would keep the phone call short.
“I’m happy to help you with that. Can I have the name and Social of the insured?”
Chelsea plucked an insurance invoice from the rolltop desk and read off all the information Janet needed. She hated this routine of going through every little bit of information with each call, but Janet said it was required.
“You were asking about therapy,” the rep said. “Did your doctor recommend it?”
“Yes . . . for postpartum depression.”
“I don’t see a referral from Dr. Volmer.”
“I had a consultation with a specialist—out of plan,” Chelsea said. “She wants me to have therapy. I’m suffering from postpartum depression.”
“You went out of plan? Then the therapy won’t be covered.”
“You’re kidding me.”
“That’s Sounder’s policy,” the rep said. “But you should be okay without the therapy. The depression won’t hang on much longer with Annabelle gone.”
Janet’s voice was a stab through the heart.
Chelsea tossed the invoice onto the stack. “How did you know that?”
“I’m sorry. It’s on the national news, of course.”
“So . . . wait. You’re saying I don’t need help because someone kidnapped my child?”
“In a way, you already got the help you needed.” The rep’s voice was deadly calm. “You were fantasizing about killing your baby, Ms. Maynard. You put her out in the cold in a flimsy yellow nightgown. What kind of a mother does that?”
“I . . . I don’t remember doing that. I was drugged.”
“You didn’t want your baby, Ms. Maynard. Now she’s with someone who wants her.”
A second later, Grace was by her side, plucking a pen from the cubby in the desk.
The yellow outfit was NOT in any of the news reports. It’s not public knowledge.
Chelsea’s blood chilled.
Grace was right. The police had decided it was best to keep some of the details private and . . . Chelsea and Leo hadn’t shared them with anyone.
OMG! Chelsea wrote: How could she know that?
Keep talking, Grace wrote, obviously baffled. Tell her you want the baby back.
“I know I was a wreck,” Chelsea said. “I said some terrible things, but I’m starting to feel better and I need my baby. I want her back.”
“Have you considered that maybe she’s better off without you?” Janet asked.
“I made mistakes,” Chelsea admitted as Grace wrote: Who is she?
Quickly, Chelsea put her pen to the notepad below Grace’s scrawl.
Janet Walker, Sounder Health Care.
She studied Grace’s face for a clue as to what was going on. How could this woman on the other end of the phone be connected to her baby?
How did Janet Walker know these things?
But all the information the woman needed was laid out on her computer monitor: Annabelle’s address. Chelsea’s medical history. A line-by-line version of their lives.
Janet Walker had used that information and now . . .
She knew about the yellow nightgown.
Janet Walker knew about her Annabelle, damn her.
Chelsea longed to grab her by the neck and start shaking the truth out of her. But for now, she would stay connected, keep her talking. Anything to get closer to Annabelle.
Chapter 44
When Chelsea first took the call, Grace had been distracted by the message on her own phone. Jimmy had sent her confirmation that Helen Janet Walker did not have a valid license to drive or work as a nurse in the state of Arizona. Not giving up there, Jimmy had thrown the net wider, but so far no hits on that search.
Her instincts shouted that the baby nurse had Annabelle Green; she hoped a judge would agree with her and sign a search warrant.
She had forwarded Jimmy’s e-mail to Chris and their boss, Bruce Hopkins, who would move on the warrant. Grace was just about to thank Jimmy when she noticed Chelsea growing tense with her phone conversation.
The insurance rep was a bit of a psycho; her demeanor was invasive, to say the least. But something about her stopped Grace in her tracks.
Then she made the crack about PPD . . . and the yellow nightgown.
When Chelsea told her the rep was named Janet Walker, Grace was stunned.
Helen Janet Walker.
Of course! The woman needed a way to access information about pregnant women—delivery dates, health status, addresses—and working as a representative for a health insurance company gave her total access to that information.
Keep her on the phone, Grace wrote on the pad. KEEP TALKING!!!
She dashed out the door and ran to her car, ignoring the curious reporters who shouted out to her.
“Detective! What’s going on?”
“Do you have a break in the case? Have you found Annabelle Green?”
As she steered toward the Rosekind place, she got Chris on the line. “The baby nurse is the one . . . she has to be. I hope Annabelle is with her. Are you there yet?”
“Been here for about ten minutes.”
“I’m on my way. Rosekind must have the baby, or else she knows where Annie is,” she said. “She was probably sleeping when we went there last night.”
“I’ll make sure no one leaves the building, and I’ll call a boss.”
“I already sent Jimmy’s evidence to Sgt. Hopkins. I hope he can get us a search warrant.”
“You want some uniforms?” he asked.
“Definitely. We could use extra hands and eyes.”
Grace turned on the dashboard light and floored it on the Hutch, her heart racing as she sifted through details.
Yes . . . she had seen the office setup, the headset and boxes, and Helen had said she worked for an insurance company. That had to be how she found Chelsea and Leo—and any other pregnant couples she might have considered stealing from. Right now she was working on Chelsea and Leo’s claims.
She had sneered at Chelsea, reminding her of the dark fantasies of postpartum depression. Of course, she knew Chelsea’s medical history, and she’d been using it against her.
Had Helen/Janet dropped off the tainted muffins? But how could she have known that Leo would be out of town?
Still, there were so many unanswered questions.
At the moment, Annabelle was their first priority. They had to focus on safe entry and safe recovery of Annabelle Green. If Chelsea was able to keep Janet on the line, police staff would be able to surround the house and eventually coax the baby from her abductors.
When Grace pulled up, Chris was standing outside his car, looking up at the house with two uniformed officers. She was relieved to see that one of them was Mike Balfour. With a sergeant on the scene, they could make a move.
She scrambled out of the car and joined them. “Sarge. You got here fast.”
“This missing baby has been on my mind all week. Since that neighbor was a dead end, I’ve been listening for this dispatch,” Mike said. “You think the kid is inside?”
“I do.” She gave him a quick update on the case.
“Okay.” The sergeant glanced up at the house. “Second-story apartment, and you spoke with the woman yesterday, right?”
“Last night,” Chris said. “And we evacuated the first-floor tenants before you got here—just in case.”
“Good.” Balfour scratched the center of his forehead with a thumb, as if preparing for the sign of the cross. It reminded Grace to send up a prayer of her own.
“Let’s get someone on the back, just so no one squirts out a window or back door,” the sergeant said. “As soon as we get the warrant, we’ll go and announce ourselves and see if she comes out to talk with us. If we can get in to search, I see no trouble with her handing over the baby. In cases like these, abductors are not usually violent.”
Grace opened her jacket to adjust her gun belt. “Not usually, but anything is possible.”
“Right. Never let your guard down. We stay strategically safe,” Balfour said as another unit pulled up.
Within ten minutes there was a call saying the judge had signed the search warrant. Grace put her hand on her gun. She prayed that this was the end of their search for Annabelle.
Two cops were sent to cover the backyard, while Grace and Chris climbed the stairs, Balfour and Viloria behind them.
As she took her position on the side of the door, Grace listened for any sound of the baby, but it was too quiet. No fussing or crying. Damn.
“Mrs. Rosekind?” Chris knocked, then pressed the doorbell. “Helen Rosekind? It’s the police. Please open the door and come talk with us.”
Grace could hear footsteps behind the door. “Come back later. I’m busy with work.”
“Helen,” Grace said, “we need to talk with you, and we’re not going away. We have a warrant to search your apartment.”
The lock clicked, and the door swung in. Helen stood just inside the door, her eyes wary.
We’re halfway there, Grace thought. Worries about a hostage standoff began to fade. A typical infant abductor didn’t like confrontations, and she didn’t want to hurt the baby.
Helen’s solid, steady demeanor had fled and in its place was a flicker of fear. “I’ll talk with you, but you can’t come in. I have confidential insurance records inside, and it’s my job to keep them secure.”
“Don’t worry about your paperwork, ma’am.” Sgt. Balfour’s tone was reassuring. “We’re trying to locate a missing infant. What can you tell us about Annabelle Green?”
Helen folded her arms across her chest. “She’s a very sweet baby. I can tell you that her mother wasn’t able to take care of her,” she said with a hint of her former confidence.
“Is that right?” Balfour moved closer, his hand pressing on the door. “How well did you know Chelsea Maynard?”
“She and her husband hired me as a nurse to care for their baby.” Helen suddenly realized that the sergeant was pressing into the apartment. In a sudden panic, she pushed the door. “No, you can’t come in here. I need to secure my files.”
Balfour’s hand stopped the door from closing, and he gave it a hard shove, knocking the woman off balance.
“No! I told you, this is not a good time,” Helen insisted.
“This is the only time,” Grace said as she and Chris moved into the apartment.
“They can’t do that!” Helen complained to the sergeant.
Grace ignored the woman’s objections, knowing Balfour and Viloria would do their best to restrain her.
She moved through the rooms in a flash.
The office set up in a corner of the living room was just as she’d remembered it, with a computer and a file cabinet and stacks of boxes.
In the kitchen, the kettle was just beginning to boil. Grace ignored it, disappointed that there was no infant seat, no outward sign of Annabelle in the tidy room.
The bedroom was the jackpot.
The breath caught in Grace’s throat when she spotted a crib beside the double bed.
“That’s it.” She rushed forward to reach down into the ravine between the bars, but the crib was empty.
A changing pad was spread out on the floor. A box of wipes was open. The Diaper Genie sat at the ready. All signs indicated that a baby had been here recently.
“Where’s the baby?” Chris asked.
“Good question.” When Grace swung around, the little alcove in the corner caught her eye. The small nook was just big enough for a dressing table. But the wall above it was the showpiece—certainly Helen’s pride and joy. It had been behind Grace when she entered the room, but now the photographs of newborn babies, each blown up to fill a full page, drew her close.
“Look at these babies.” There were six of them, newborn infants with sleepy eyes and pinched faces. Each photograph had a handmade caption taped beside it.
“Conner, Bayside, Queens,” Chris read. “Hayley from Long Island. Joseph and . . .” He pointed to a photo on the right. “Here she is: Annabelle, New Rochelle.”
All these photos . . . Grace’s mind swam with the possibilities.
“They’re all from this area. We’d know if these kids were missing.”
“So maybe they’re safe at home with their parents,” Chris said. “But they were all candidates to be abducted.”
“And Annabelle just happened to be the unlucky one. I’ll bet a little digging will show that Helen has worked with these families—either as a baby nurse or as an insurance rep. I don’t know how she got the photos, but this woman has had a plan for a long time.” She turned away from the shrine to babies and opened the closet door. “The question is, where is Annabelle?”
“I’ve got a feeling Rosekind can tell us,” Chris said.
They faced her in the hall.
“Tell us where the baby is,” Chris demanded.
“We know you abducted Annabelle Green.” Grace didn’t filter disdain from her voice. “Where is she?”
“I don’t know anything about Annabelle Green.” Helen’s arms were crossed, her eyes dark beads of annoyance. “But if you don’t get out of my home right now, I’m going to sue you all.”
“Remember what I said, Helen?” Mike’s gentle tone held a hint of warning. “We have a warrant.”
“You have a crib that’s been used recently. We found a half-used bottle of prescription sedatives in the medicine cabinet. Did you mix the other half into those muffins you left for Chelsea Maynard?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“How about these baby bottles, Mrs. Rosekind?” Angie Viloria appeared in the kitchen door. “There are half a dozen baby bottles in the fridge that match the ones stolen from Annabelle Green’s home.”
Something dark slid into Helen’s eyes. A wicked slice of delusion. “Those are for my baby.” She looked from Angie to Grace, eliciting sympathy. “You know how it is. Sometimes I have to pump breast milk for Lily.”
“Your baby . . .” Grace stared at the woman, wondering how they’d gotten to Crazy Town. “Helen.” If that’s your na
me. “You need to tell us where the baby is. Now.”
The malice flew from her eyes, and suddenly Helen seemed pathetic once again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Let’s take a ride to the precinct,” Sgt. Balfour said. “Sometimes, in a different environment, things seem clearer.”
Viloria snapped handcuffs on Helen Rosekind, and Chris and Grace taped off the apartment, setting up a crime scene. The forensic unit would sweep through here this morning; it would take a little longer for the IT unit to start sorting through files and data on Helen’s computer.
Grace watched from the bedroom window as Viloria and Balfour put Helen Rosekind into the backseat of their patrol car.
“Where did she leave the baby?” Grace asked as Chris searched through dresser drawers. “I wouldn’t be so worried if I didn’t see a glimmer of crazy in her eyes. Along with her weird answers.”
“I know what you mean. Lights on upstairs but nobody home.”
Grace called Chelsea Maynard; the woman had been left hanging, and though she didn’t have the best news, they were getting closer.
“Helen Rosekind was more than your nurse,” she told Chelsea. “She works for Sounder Health Care. She’s also Janet Walker.”
“Helen is Janet? That’s . . . that’s crazy.”
“We’re at her place now, taking her in for further questioning.” Grace bounded down the stairs, leaving the rest of the apartment for the more thorough forensic team. “We found your breast milk, as well as photos of Annabelle and other infants from the metro area. It looks like a baby has been here recently, but Annabelle is not here now.”
“And she won’t tell you where Annie is?”
“She says she doesn’t know.” As Grace descended the porch, she scanned the crowd gathering around the police cars pulled up at odd angles in front of the house. Moms were there with their kids. A few neighborhood walkers. A handful of older folks. So far, mostly neighbors.
A man wheeling a stroller cut through the crowd, a strong sense of urgency in his movements. He maneuvered around an elderly couple and came over to the cops.
All She Ever Wanted Page 28
