The line went dead.
“…going?” she finished to the sound of dead air.
She was running low on time, Dottie’s interview still waited, and a small detail like this seemed insignificant.
But Matt was an ace investigator, and this seemingly insignificant detail could blow the investigation wide open. She’d seen it before. Her own team had solved a crime from 1978 with a parking ticket.
Cramming the Jarvis folder and her stack of notes into her briefcase, she went downstairs to wait for him.
* * *
Matt and Taylor sat in front of a giant whiteboard in Grey’s office. Well, the office being made up of a recycled metal desk, squeaky chair, and a large decorative screen separating his workspace from the rest of his team. The giant rolling whiteboard now sat in a large open area near the windows on the south side of the room.
Justice rolled his desk chair over, but didn’t sit. He went straight to the board and drew four columns. “What exactly do we think we have here?”
This from Mitch who stood beside Taylor, feet at shoulder-width, arms crossed over his chest. For whatever reason, Mitch didn’t like Matt.
Ask him if he cared.
Maybe it was because Matt had gone to the dark side and become a private investigator. Cops didn’t like PIs. They saw them as wannabes, people who didn’t have the stones to get through the academy or, if they did graduate, couldn’t survive the job. In the world of law enforcement, you were either in or out. He’d, according to many of his former law enforcement brethren, sold out. When he’d left the PD, most of his friends and acquaintances dropped away. The true friends though, they’d stayed and he’d always be grateful for their loyalty.
The rest? He’d given up worrying about it. Working cold cases with the sisters allowed him to do the work he loved, to make a damned difference. Allowed him to sleep at night. In his mind, that’s all that mattered.
Matt wandered to the whiteboard and picked up a marker. “I don’t know what we have. That’s why we’re here. We figured with Grey’s history on the case, maybe he could help us piece it out.”
At the top of each column, Matt wrote Felicity, Walt, Baby, and Birthing Center.
“The sticker,” Taylor said. “Grey, do you remember anything about a sticker on the rear window of the truck?”
Grey shook his head. “No. And I’d remember. The small details make cases like this and with the number of silver trucks out there, I’d have chased that.”
Recapping the marker, Matt tapped it against the board. “And, we’re talking more than seven years ago. What are the chances that silver truck is still owned by the same personandhas the sticker?”
“It’s a stretch.” Taylor held up the blue folder from the birthing center. “Grey, I don’t know if you’ve seen this, but it’s the welcome kit Dottie Hernandez distributed at the open house. If all the forms are completed, the birthing center basically has an entire family history. Including medical and photos.”
“And they need all that, why?”
Matt shrugged. “They say it’s preparation for medical emergencies and security. If family members want to visit, they check the photos on file to make sure it’s really them. I get it, but it’s not sitting right with me.”
Once again, Taylor held up the folder. “If this information landed in the wrong hands, say a kidnapper’s, they’d have an entire medical history for the baby.”
Grey’s lips tipped into a frown. “Makes black market adoptions a cake walk.”
Matt poked his finger. “Bingo.”
“So let’s start running it down.”
On the board, Matt added a column for the Silver Pickup. “Justice, can you pull a list of silver trucks in say, a hundred mile radius? We’d need current and from eight years ago.”
“Teeg,” Grey yelled, “did you get that?”
The Justice Team’s resident Geek Boy was already pounding away on his keyboard. “I’m on it.”
“And,” Taylor snapped her fingers, “how about we run a crosscheck on vehicles owned by employees of the birthing center?”
Good thought. Matt waved the marker. “We could pull employment records for the center to get a list of employees. If they have any illegals, it won’t be accurate, but it’s a start.”
“Good luck,” Monroe said. “It’d be an early Christmas if you guys scored on that.”
