Melina set her head back against the rest and for a moment she drew inward, hearing only the beat of her heart and her rapid breathing. She kept her gaze on the ceiling. “Are you sure?”
“It’s a ninety-eight percent chance that she was your biological mother. Lizzie was thirty when she died. You would have been about three at the time, Agent Shepard.”
Loss, sadness, and anger collided and then tangled into a tight ball. In a matter of seconds, she had found her birth mother and had just as quickly lost her. Her throat tightened, and she did not trust herself to speak in a calm voice.
Ramsey said, “Did Lizzie Guthrie have any other children?”
“She did. She had a son, who was born three years before Agent Shepard,” Andy said. “According to birth records in California, Bonnie Guthrie’s account of Agent Shepard’s half brother was correct. The boy’s name was Dean Guthrie. He does not have a police record.”
Frustration ate at Melina as she thought about this dead end. “What about my DNA? Can you find Dean using my profile?”
“I have loaded your DNA into CODIS, Agent Shepard. Your DNA might help us find Dean Guthrie. He can change his name but not his DNA.”
“Excellent work,” Ramsey said.
Melina remained silent, trying to process what amounted to family information overload.
Andy took another long pause and said, “One last detail. Your original California birth certificate states you were born September 2, 1987, not August 1.”
“My parents didn’t know my vital statistics. Knowing my mother, she picked the date because it had a sentimental reason,” Melina said.
Computer keys clicked on the other end of the line. “When your birth mother died, Howard and Bonnie took custody of you and your half brother. You lived with both until Howard died of a heart attack a year later.”
This all fit with what Bonnie had told her. The woman traded on lies, but she also knew when to use the truth. “According to Bonnie, she retained custody of me.”
“There is no filing with the California courts regarding a custody order. Bonnie’s first arrest was in 1976 and then nothing until 1992. She received a speeding ticket in Tennessee. She was given a court date but didn’t appear.”
“My dad found me in November of 1992.”
“Bonnie was headed east on Route 25.”
Melina smoothed her hands over her thighs, letting her mind trip back. A distant audio memory flashed. Gravel kicked up under tires. A car engine roared. She watched the car drive away and in the back window saw a face. The details of that face narrowed into focus. The child, a boy, was screaming and pounding on the window.
“She kept Dean and put me out on the side of the road like a dog.” Melina was amazed her voice sounded so matter of fact, even distant.
“It appears so,” Andy said quietly. “Bonnie was arrested in 2000. Her arrest record notes there was an underaged boy with her. He gave his name as Dean Guthrie. The pair of them were stealing from an electronics store. As Bonnie was being cuffed, the boy asked to go to the bathroom. He vanished and cops couldn’t find him.”
“In 2000, Dean would have been sixteen,” Ramsey said.
She cleared her throat again. “Do we know anything about him?”
“No. I haven’t had a lot of time to look for him, but he seems to have fallen off the radar after Bonnie’s 2000 arrest.”
“Keep us posted,” Ramsey said.
“I would bet money he’s here in Nashville,” Melina said, her intuition gnawing at her.
“Why do you say that?” Andy asked.
“Because Bonnie came back to Nashville,” Melina said. “She didn’t come looking for me. She came looking for Sonny.”
“Kind of odd that he happened to be in the same town as you,” Andy said.
“Not really,” Ramsey said. “As he got older, he would have known if Melina had been found, it would have been by Nashville police, and she’d have landed in Davidson County’s social services.”
She shifted her gaze, meeting his gaze head on. She felt light headed.
He knew as well as she did why Sonny, a.k.a. Dean Guthrie, was here.
“He’s here because you’re here,” Ramsey said.
For more years than she could remember, she had wanted to peel back the veil on her past and know where she came from. But each new layer of history brought with it a new set of problems.
Melina ended the call, doing her best to not show her emotions.
“You okay?” Ramsey asked.
“Sure. Just fine.”
“Your nonreaction is more worrisome than any rant.”
“This is a lot to take in.”
“Have you spoken to your parents about Bonnie?” he asked.
“I’ve touched on the high spots but not gone into much detail. I don’t want to upend their world.”
“Something tells me they can handle it,” Ramsey said.
“Probably. I just need to process this as much as I can before I get bombarded with questions from them. They mean well, but I can’t even answer my own questions, let alone theirs.”
“Adoptees have a tendency to hide their true emotions from both their birth and adoptive parents. They become a kind of peacemaker who does their best to not upset the applecart.”
“I’ve read all the psychology books,” she said. “Adoptees have lost their birth parents through no fault of their own and consequently fear losing their adoptive parents. They test, prod, probe, all the while expecting and also fearing rejection. And if we do reunite with the birth family, we spend the rest of our lives walking on eggshells so that we don’t chase them away.” She shifted in her seat as if his scrutiny was too much to bear.
“You’ve put a lot of thought into this.”
“Too damn much. But my observations about adoption and adoptees are not relevant right now. What matters is Elena and finding Sonny.”
“The more I consider Jennifer Brown’s crime scene, the more I’m convinced Sonny is suffering with serious abandonment and anger issues,” Ramsey said.
Melina pictured a young boy who watched Bonnie driving off, knowing his sister was on the side of a deserted road. He must have been traumatized. The fear he had felt as a boy grew into rage as he became a man. “He’s killing Bonnie over and over.”
“I think that’s exactly what he’s doing.” Ramsey put the car in drive and pulled out onto the main road. For several minutes neither spoke as they wove their way back to Nashville.
All the unknown pieces of her past were falling into place and creating a very sad and dark image. She tipped her head back against the headrest. “New birthday, a birth mother, and now a half brother who is likely a serial killer. So, how’s your family doing?”
He shook his head. “You can’t pick your family.”
“That’s for damn sure.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Thursday, August 27, 6:00 p.m.
Bonnie was good at figuring things out. Her first stop was the hospital. She knew walking in and asking about the kid was not going to get her anywhere. So she made a quick stop at a uniform store located across from the hospital and bought a pair of scrubs. She pulled around the side of the building and changed into the scrubs and then drove to the hospital.
The success of a con depended on confidence. If you believed your story, the chances of someone else buying into it were good.
She rode the elevator to the pediatric wing. There were several nurses at the central station. They might give up information on the kid, but chances were slim. All the new federal regs made everyone paranoid.
The rattle of the wheels drew Bonnie’s attention to an attendant pushing a food cart. Older, with stooped shoulders, he was perfect. She snatched a clipboard from a side cart.
As he loaded a tray with an untouched yogurt and banana beside a plate of meatloaf and mashed potatoes, she came up to him, smiling. “Such a waste,” she said. “All that food.”
“I hear ya,” he said. “Happens all the time.”
“Could feed an army on the unopened food alone.”
“I know.”
She glanced at her clipboard. “I’m here to do a follow-up with Elena Sanchez.”
“She’s checked out,” he said. “Social services came. A foster mom, I think.”
“Darn. I was hoping to do a quick mental health analysis. County has implemented a new policy. I’ll contact the agent in charge of the case.” Again, she glanced at the clipboard as if trying to remember. “Melina Shepard.”
“She should know. Her mother took the girl.”
Bonnie pretended to write on the clipboard. “Right. The Shepards are good people.” She thought back to the article she had read about Melina. There were family details, but she could not quite remember. “Thanks, doll,” she said.
At the information desk, Bonnie asked if there was a computer she could use and was directed to a small room reserved for family members of patients. She now had everything she needed.
She searched Melina’s name. When she had been in California, all she had had was Melina’s first name. But how many Melinas could there be in Music City? Turns out, a few dozen. She had searched each one and come up empty. Then she’d come across an article on Agent Melina Shepard with the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation. The instant Bonnie saw the picture of the young agent featured in a news article, she knew she had found her girl.