Page 26 of Den of Iniquity

As soon as Todd mentioned Witness Protection, I was sure he was on the right track, and for the first time, I found myself feeling the smallest smidgeon of sympathy for Caroline Richards, aka Lindsey Baylor. She had to have been younger than five when she’d been saddled with that brand-new but phony name. And if she had grown up with a destitute and likely drug-abusing mother, she would have endured a difficult and chaotic childhood. No wonder she had glommed on to Jeremy Cartwright. She no doubt saw him as a meal ticket, someone who would offer her some stability. But who was she really, and what kind of criminal situation from thepast had put both mother and child in that situation? Those were questions with no easy answers.

“I’ll keep looking,” Todd said, bringing me back to the conversation at hand, “but don’t hold your breath. Getting a facial rec hit on something from 2003 and from a completely unknown location isn’t very likely.”

That evening Kyle surprised us by offering to cook dinner, and he delivered a respectable batch of spaghetti. I doubt Gordon Ramsay would have called it elevated, but it was certainly edible and better than anything I could have conjured up.

“Who taught you to cook?” Mel asked after taking a tentative bite.

“My mom,” he said. “Dad can’t cook for beans, and neither can Caroline. I’m the one who had to do most of the cooking.”

“Their loss is our gain then,” Mel said with a smile, “but you’ll end up having to give Grandpa and me a few lessons.”

He grinned back at her. “I’ll try,” he said.

As a cop I was accustomed to not discussing active investigations, but I’m not a cop any longer. Still, since my family was all bound up in this one, it seemed reasonable that if I wanted Kyle to be straight with me, I needed to be the same with him.

“By the way,” I said, “her real name isn’t Caroline Richards.”

Both Mel and Kyle looked at me in disbelief. “It’s not?” Kyle managed.

I gave them a brief overview of what Todd and I had surmised about Caroline Richards’s history, leaving them both gobsmacked.

“You really think she grew up in Witness Protection starting when she was just a little kid?” Kyle asked when I finished.

“That’s only a guess on our part,” I admitted, “but the trail of multiple IDs strongly suggests that might be the case.”

“What do you think her mother did?” Kyle asked.

“I’m not sure if it’s something she did or if it’s something someone else did that she knew about. One way or another, Phyllis ended up with a target on her back, and her daughter ended up having to go along for the ride.”

“That sounds awful,” Kyle said. “It almost makes me feel sorry for her. Is there any way to find out what really happened?”

“If the US Marshals are involved, probably not,” I explained. “Information on people in Witness Protection is never made public. Once someone walks through that door, there’s usually no going back, not without putting yourself in mortal danger.”

“Even after this long?” Kyle asked. “I mean, in 2003, I had barely been born.”

“Any number of bad guys out there are a lot like elephants,” I told him. “Once you cross them, they never forget.”

Chapter 11

Bellingham, Washington

Saturday, February 22, 2020

The need to strategize about meals on a daily basis wasn’t the only change brought about after adding Kyle to the mix of Mel’s and my way of life. Our bedroom boasts a completely acceptable master bath, which includes a double vanity and an amazing shower. In reality, the en suite bath is mostly Mel’s domain. In the past, for everything other than showers, I had used the powder room. With Kyle present, I no longer felt comfortable hotfooting it between our bedroom and the powder room in my skivvies.

We’d also learned that private conversations often needed to happen in our bedroom. Which is why Mel waited until we were on our way to bed before putting in her two cents’ worth on our dinnertime discussion regarding Phyllis and Lindsey Baylor.

“I’m really curious about what happened there,” she said. “Whatkind of a case would have been important enough to put someone like Phyllis into Witness Protection?”

“Maybe something drug related?” I suggested. “Or, more likely, cartel related, but good luck prying any information about that out of the US Marshals.”

“Maybe you don’t have to,” Mel said.

“What do you mean?”

“Forensic genealogy has caught up with a lot of bad guys in the last few years,” Mel suggested, “but maybe it’s caught up with the US Marshals Service, too. Maybe it’s time you gave Lulu Benson a call.”

Have I mentioned that there are times when Mel Soames is nothing short of brilliant?

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