“I’m doing that tomorrow. I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.”
“When are you coming home?” I ask.
“I was thinking of staying the weekend. Billy’s having a barbecue on Sunday. He wants to introduce me around.”
“I don’t know what you’ve done with the real Hike,” I say, “but if you’ve hurt him, I’ll track you down if it takes me forever.”
Pod Hike ignores that and says, “We should think about opening an office down here.”
“Open an office in South Carolina? I’m still sorry we have one in New Jersey.”
“I’m just trying to think big.”
“Speaking of big, have you seen any of the Winnebago-dragging beetles?”
“Turns out that’s a myth,” he says. Then, “Hey, Andy … gotta go. Some of the guys just got here. I’ll call y’all tomorrow.”
Click.
Y’all?
here is one upside to my not having a clue as to what is going on. That is the fact that nothing I do feels stupid, because anything is just as logical, or illogical, as anything else.
This morning, I’m at the Alpine Medical Building in Alpine, New Jersey. It’s about thirty minutes and many, many millions of dollars from Paterson; you would be hard-pressed to find a more upscale community in the state.
This is where Dylan Hickman was found, abandoned, three years ago. He was one month old at the time, and the identity of whoever left him there was, to my knowledge, never uncovered.
Laurie has done the legwork, or in this case phone-work, and discovered that the person who found Dylan was Barbara Woodson, the executive administrator of the facility, which I suppose is akin to being the office manager. The building itself seems to contain a wide array of physicians of all types who apparently decided they can more easily be found if they’re in one place.
Ms. Woodson is a pretty, petite woman, one who comes off as being in total control. When I finally get into her office, she quickly fields three calls, each one ending with her giving crisp orders about how to handle a particular situation or problem.
Then she turns to me and smiles. “Sorry about that.” She reaches over and flicks a switch on the phone. “Ringer off,” she says.
“Thanks. Laurie told you what I wanted to talk to you about.”
She nods. “The Hickman child. That was a day here unlike any other.”
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“Really not that much to tell. I’m always the first one here; I get in about six thirty. I like to do things before the phone starts ringing. The first thing I noticed was that the door to the lobby was unlocked. That had never happened before.”
“That worried you?”
She nods. “It did. But I didn’t notice any damage or sign that the lock had been broken, so I went in anyway.” She smiles. “Carefully, and prepared to run.”
“Was the lock found to be broken?” I ask.
“The police said it was picked, but professionally, and the alarm was disabled. As were the lobby and outside cameras; in fact, power to the entire building had been shut off. I can only assume that it was done by the people who left Dylan,” she said. “I don’t believe in coincidences.”
A woman after my own heart. “Doesn’t sound like a distraught or overwhelmed parent,” I say.
“No, it doesn’t, although I have a hard time understanding anyone who could leave a child like that. Anyway, I took maybe half a dozen steps inside, and I saw the stroller … it was actually one of those that lies back and becomes a small bed, with a cover over it. The child was inside, apparently sleeping comfortably.”
“So you immediately called the police?”
“I did. I also called for an ambulance, just in case. But they were not needed, as it turned out. The police took the child and all that came with him away. Then they questioned me, but I didn’t have any more to tell them than I have to tell you.”
“Was there anything else noteworthy about it?” I ask. “Anything that surprised you?”
“Actually, yes. Everything was expensive, first class all the way. I had just bought a stroller for my niece’s baby, and this was much nicer than the ones I saw. I’ll bet it was a thousand dollars. And the blanket covering him was cashmere. I can’t even imagine what that cost.”
That does seem to be unusual. It’s not so much that wealthy people are more devoted to their children; it’s rather that if they wanted to give a child up, they’d have resources that would let them do it in a better way than simply leaving it in a doctors’ office lobby.
“Was there a note left behind?”
“No, nothing. Do you know what happened to the child?”
I realize that she is not aware that the baby was adopted by Jill and later abducted. Since she did not know the child’s name, and since adoption records are sealed, it makes sense that she’d be in the dark about it.
I have no intention of telling her what happened; there’s no reason to upset her. And the truth is that upset women are high up on the list of things I don’t handle well, just below crazed gunmen and a notch above feral cats.
I shake my head. “All that I can say is that he was adopted into a very good home.”
t’s time once again to talk to Jill. Laurie has told me that she’s still a bit upset with me for, in her view, taking Keith’s side by representing him full-time. Laurie senses that Jill feels that we got into this to help her, and that by moving over to Keith, we are abandoning her.
From her point of view, she’s not wrong.
Because I may have mentioned that I don’t handle upset women well, I am bringing Laurie along to protect me. I am not ashamed of doing so; I have long ago come to terms with my own cowardice.
It turns out that my fears are unwarranted. We go to see Jill in her office, where she apparently works one day a week. She greets us with a smile and an offer of coffee or anything else we might want. Her assistant nods eagerly, demonstrating his willingness to accommodate our every whim. My whim is coffee, while Laurie is whim-less.
Once we’ve dispensed with very little small talk, I say, “I know Laurie has told you that we’re representing Keith full-time.”
She nods. “She did. At first, I was upset with it.” She turns to Laurie. “Sorry I overreacted.”
“Understandable. I would have reacted the same way,” Laurie says.
“Thank you. The point is that I know you are trying to find out where Dylan is. How you come at it is something I trust you on.”
“Thank you,” I say.
She continues. “And Laurie told me that this means you will be less able to confide in me as this goes along. I understand that, but I just hope you’ll tell me whatever you can. As I’m sure you know, I am desperate for any shred of information about Dylan.”
I’m afraid she might start getting teary. When upset women turn into crying women, they move up past crazed gunmen on the list of things I can’t handle.
“We’ll share whatever we can,” Laurie says, riding to the rescue. Jill thanks her, even as she’s reaching for a tissue.
“How did you come to adopt Dylan?” I ask.
“I was wanting to adopt, and I had my name on a list.”
“What list?”
She shrugs. “I don’t really know. My lawyer took care of it. Then I got a call that a baby boy was abandoned at some doctor’s office in Alpine, and I dropped everything and went to see him. He was in the hospital, although he was fine.”
“So you were immediately first on the list?”
She grins with a little embarrassment. “There was a donation I made to a charity for unwanted children. It was a fairly substantial donation.”
I nod my understanding. “And you’ve never had any idea who might have left Dylan there?”
“I’ve never wanted to know,” she says. “I was afraid I’d be inclined to contact them, and they might then become part of our lives. The truth is I didn’t want to share Dylan. I know that’s selfish.�
�
Time to change the subject. “Do you know who told your security department that Keith was stealing documents?”
She shakes her head. “No. They didn’t know either. They got the information anonymously, but they confirmed it, and we took action.”
“And you were in Europe at the time?”
“Yes, raising funds. I was gone for more than two months, but I obviously kept in touch with the office here on a daily basis.”
“Can you think of any enemies Keith had within the company, someone who might have wanted to report him or even create fake evidence against him?”
She pauses for a few moments, considering this. “No, I can’t think of anyone.”
“No one ever disliked him?” I ask. “Maybe was jealous of his job or his relationship with you?”
“I can’t think of anyone, but it’s obviously possible. You think someone framed Keith for the document thefts? And for the abduction? Is that where you’re going with this?”
Laurie jumps in. “Jill, we want the guilty party found, whoever it may be, and we have reason to believe it is not Keith. Only by following this wherever it leads can we learn what happened to Dylan.”
“Why do you think it’s not Keith?” she asks.
I’m able to answer the question without violating client confidentiality because I did not learn this from the client. “Jill, Teresa Mullins is the woman who dropped Cody off at the shelter.”
Jill’s hand goes to her mouth, her shock evident.
I drop the other bomb. “And she died in a suspicious fire shortly thereafter, just a few days ago.”
“Oh, my God. No … this can’t be happening.”
“We’re sure of it, Jill,” Laurie says. “And that means Teresa lied in her testimony. It’s why we’re looking at this with fresh eyes.”
Jill doesn’t say anything for at least thirty seconds; it’s as if she is trying to digest this new information. Finally, “So you think this was all about framing Keith?”
“We’re not there yet,” I say. “It could have been about Keith, or you, or Dylan.”
She takes a deep breath. “So what can I do?”
“Think back to any possible enemies Keith may have had. Especially in business, but not limited to that. Also think of people that might want to do you harm.”
“Okay. I will.”
“And we’ll need full access to everyone in your company, including security personnel.”
“Of course,” she says, clearly happy to be able to focus on something within her control. “You talked to Zachary, right?”
She’s talking about CEO Zachary Alford, who I spoke to in his office. “I did,” I say. “He didn’t seem too happy about it.”
“I’ll try to make sure everybody speaks to you with a smile,” she says, forcing a smile herself.
“Including Ted Parsons?”
She frowns. “He doesn’t work for me.”
“He’s your partner. He’ll see me if you ask him to.”
Jill looks as if she is going to argue the point but then sort of shrugs in defeat. “I’ll call him. I really hope something comes from all this.”
“Me too,” I say. “By the way, Alford said that you and Ted Parsons were both instrumental in hiring him. Is that true?”
“Actually, no,” she says. “I was in Europe raising money … I wasn’t paying much attention. It was really Ted’s choice, though, of course, I signed off on it. I’m glad I did; he’s done an outstanding job, which is why we promoted him.”
We say our good-byes, and then Jill, apparently unable to resist, once again addresses the issue that hangs over all of this.
“Please tell me what you can, when you can.”
t is very possible that the answer we are looking for is connected to Finding Home. The company is a source of substantial wealth, and with that comes power. Throw in a little sex, and you have the trifecta for criminal motives. When you then add in the fact that two of this case’s very key players, Jill and Keith, were connected to the company, that makes it a likely candidate to be at the center of this.
The truth is that I know very little about the company, other than what Jill and Keith have told me. I know that they do DNA testing and that a new process vaulted them into a position of prominence. But that’s all.
Fortunately, I have Sam Willis at my disposal, and at my request, he’s prepared a folder full of material about Finding Home, taken off the Internet. Of course, I could ask him to illegally penetrate the company’s internal computer system, and he could probably do so in less time than it would take me to ask the question. But for right now, public information is sufficient.
Before I start digging into this material, I put Ricky to bed, kiss him good night, and tuck him in. It’s a routine that I really enjoy, and I think on some level it’s become even more important to me because of my involvement in the Dylan Hickman case. As a new parent, I don’t have quite the imagination to conjure up how awful it must be to have a child taken away.
I’m that rare rich person that only accidentally stumbles onto the business pages when I’m looking for sports, so Finding Home’s story is mostly new to me. But the articles Sam provided leave no doubt that the story of the company’s growth played out in the public spotlight.
Most of the stories written about Finding Home were written after the fact, meaning after it became successful. That makes sense; why write about a small, unimportant company that’s struggling? Who would care?
Jill Hickman comes off as fairly heroic in this portrayal, and it seems deservedly so. As a start-up entrepreneur, she was going against some large, established, and well-financed companies, and there were a number of occasions when it looked like Finding Home, the company on which she had staked her career, wouldn’t make it.
She is said to have removed herself from the scientific end, which was not her specialty anyway, and plunged into the world of high finance. Her company simply would not survive unless some deep-pocketed investors were found, and Jill set out to find them. It became an all-consuming mission.
She worked both Europe and the U.S. but finally struck gold right here, just thirty minutes away in Manhattan. A private equity firm called the Parsons Group, named after Ted Parsons, its founder, first invested some funds to provide a much-needed quick influx of cash. They then followed through by purchasing half the company.
Jill retained the other half, as well as the authority to run the company. The Parsons Group was known to be a passive investor, and they were content to put their faith in Jill. However, the abduction of Dylan changed everything. Work became less important to Jill, and she pulled back considerably.
She took the title of chairman, and she and the Parsons Group elevated Zachary Alford to CEO.
Jill’s retaining her half of the company was fortuitous. With the money to compete in the research labs and the marketplace, Finding Home thrived. They’ve been able to expand their business well beyond just the retail side, and even government labs have farmed out much of their work to them.
The company now has so much business that they operate twenty-four hours a day. So while there didn’t seem to be that many people around when I was there, it’s possible the night shift is as busy or more so.
The bottom line is that everyone involved in the company made an immense amount of money. All the participants have lived happily ever after, except for Jill, who has lost her son, perhaps permanently.
Reading through this stuff is so far not getting me any closer than before to understanding what role the company might play in Keith’s case.
He was removed from Finding Home for alleged ethical violations. Whether those violations were real or fabricated, the key fact is that he was removed. If the reason to harm him was related to the business, then that was already accomplished, the damage already inflicted.
What would they have to gain by going a step further and framing him for the abduction of a child? How would that further a business goal?
>
So what was true before I started reading is equally true now.
I just don’t get it.
I finish reading at ten thirty, and I no sooner close the folder than Laurie calls out from the bedroom, asking if I’m coming to bed soon. When she asks a question like that, the true answer is that I will be there in as much time as it takes me to run up the stairs. I’d get there faster if I knew how to beam myself into the bedroom.
I’m on the sixth step, taking them two at a time, when the phone rings. By the time I get to the bedroom, Laurie is handing me the phone and saying, “It’s Sam.”
“Tell him I’ll call him back in a half hour,” I say.
She smiles. “A half hour? Aren’t you being overly optimistic?”
“I’m including eighteen minutes of postcoital bliss.”
“Take the phone,” she says.
So I do. “What’s up, Sam? In as few words as possible, please.”
“GPS records place Linda Sanford at the foundation when Cody was dropped off.”
“Great.” This comes as no surprise to me. “Is that it?”
“No. She got an untraceable wire transfer from the Cayman Islands three years ago, two weeks after the trial ended.”
“How much?”
“Seven hundred fifty thousand dollars. She spent seventy thousand of it at some kind of senior residential facility and was living off the rest until the day she died. She didn’t exactly live life in the fast lane; there was more than six hundred thousand still there when she bought the farm.”
In a normal circumstance, I would torture Sam for his use of that phrase by asking him how much she paid for the farm. But this is not a normal circumstance; Laurie is waiting for me in bed.
So I simply say, “Great work, Sam.”
“There’s more. She placed an interesting phone call about six months ago. Actually, three of them, all to the same person.”
“Who is that?”
“Stanley Butler, Keith Wachtel’s attorney. The calls were placed three weeks before he died.”
Boom.
need to dramatically change my approach. Until now, my goal has been to find out what really happened three years ago and to learn who was actually responsible. An additional, far worthier goal has been to find out what happened to little Dylan Hickman.
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