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She laughed. “I’m sure that’s the rationale but if it was my kid, no way, I don’t like outhouses and bears. The main reason I called, and this is incredibly sad, is I just got more paperwork and found out the poor kid was adopted. One of those Russian orphanage deals. So we’re talking rejection redux.”
I said, “Are either of the parents claiming problems due to the adoption?”
“Product recall?” she said. “Not so far, the egotistical idiots haven’tbothered to offer a reason, they just list it as a ‘historical factor.’ As if it’s the court’s problem. Sad, no?”
“Beyond sad.”
“Alex,” she said, “I don’t even want to think about how this poor boy will cope. I’ve got you for that, thank God. You figure something out, it’ll be worth whatever you bill. Which I don’t need to tell you should be up front and generous. This is going to get ugly.”
—
I hung up, trying not to think about a boy I hadn’t met. Approached Milo and heard him say, “Okay, at least the Waldorf worked out, not sure we’d learn anything more from that angle, anyway. Thanks, kiddo.”
Pocketing the phone, he checked his Timex, tapped his foot, said, “That was Moses. Whatever time Gio or Meagin spent at other hotels, they weren’t noticed.”
I said, “Just another romantic couple.”
He said, “I’m sure that’s how they were feeling when someone visited them on Sunday.”
Rising vehicle noise from down the road made him turn sharply. Gardener’s truck with a malfunctioning muffler, the bed laden with mowers, blowers, sacks of soil, plastic trash cans. Brief glance from the baseball-capped driver before it bucked and snorted and continued north.
Milo gave his watch another look. Approached the gate and appeared poised for his twentieth button-jab. Shook his head as if wrestling to control a bad habit and kept walking.
A few minutes later, more automotive noise drew his eyes south. This time more contented feline than rasp.
A shiny, silver Audi Quattro with polished rims drove up, stopped just past the gate, and parked parallel to the stone walls. The purr silenced and a woman got out from the driver’s side.
Thirty or so, tall, trim, and Black with tight cornrows, she wore apeach-colored silk pantsuit, blue pumps with moderate heels, and a hesitant smile. After pausing to look at us, she came forward. Jingles from her right hand. Keys and a small gray remote module.
Milo said, “Hi. Lieutenant Sturgis.”
“Randi Levine,” she said. “Doug asked me to give you these.” Nervous glance at the gate. “Do I have to go in?”
“Actually, we’d prefer if you stay right here.”
“Great.” She handed him the tools of entry. “I will need to wait so I can get everything back. How long do you see it taking?”
“We’ll be as quick as possible,” said Milo. “What’s the alarm code?”
“Oh. Sure.” She pulled a yellow Post-it from a pocket and handed it over. “You don’t really think something’s…wrong?”
“Hope not, but it pays to be careful. In light of what happened.”
Randi Levine winced.
Milo said, “Doug’s told you about it?”
“Just that it happened,” she said. “I was concerned. Of course.”
“About?”
“How he’d cope with something so horrible. Post-traumatic response, you know?”
Milo nodded. “Has he had any of that before?”
“No, why would he? I’m sure he won’t, he’s got a way.”
“Of?”
