All She Ever Wanted Part 30

"Some credit card companies had the nerve to send me the bills. They made threatening phone calls, too, but I didn't let them scare me. My daughter fixed it. She got a lawyer, who told the bill collectors to cease and desist."

"Do you know if an investigation was done?" Grace asked.

"We reported it to the police. Whatever they did with it, I couldn't tell you."

The pieces were falling into place. If the baby nurse went so far out of her way to forge her credentials, chances were that the ident.i.ty theft was a building block for the bigger crime of kidnapping.

"Mr. Rosekind, you've been very helpful," Grace said as they began to wrap things up. "Just one more question. Your wife worked as a baby nurse for many years."

"That's right. Helen loved the little ones."

"Do you remember if she had any complaints from customers? Any lawsuits against her?"

"No, nothing." He shook his head. "Everyone loved Helen, and her reputation was impeccable. Did you know she was on the board of the Mount Oliver Children's Hospital?"

"I happened to read an article about that," Grace said. "Sounds like she was a lovely woman."

"She was. A good woman with a big heart," he said, staring off down the hall. "I still miss her."

"I'm glad Ira Rosekind refused to give in to the bill collectors," Grace told Chris as they crossed the parking lot. "It really p.i.s.ses me off when people prey on the elderly."

"Next stop, the baby nurse's apartment?" Chris asked. He had found an address in Eastchester using a reverse phone directory.

"Let's hope that it's the right address and that she's home," Grace said.

Just as Grace buckled her seat belt, her cell phone rang. "Leo Green," she said, reading the display.

The man sounded frazzled. "Chelsea is freaking out, and I don't blame her. Since Annie disappeared, she's been pumping breast milk and storing it in the fridge. Now suddenly it's all gone."

"Gone . . ." Grace squinted. "You mean the bottles are gone from the fridge?"

"All of them. Someone took them. It must have been one of the people visiting today."

"And you weren't there for most of the time." Grace got out her iPhone. "Can I talk to Chelsea? I need to know exactly who came into your house today."

Chelsea came to the phone, and though her voice was a bit shaky, she made an effort to stay calm. Her first visitor was her friend Sasha Barton, but Chelsea added a bottle to the refrigerator long after Sasha left. Then came Emma and Melanie and Melanie's kids. Eleni Zika and Helen Rosekind. The two neighbors, Raquel Jarvis with her kids, and the older gentleman. . . Chelsea took a deep breath, trying to remember his name.

"Kellog," Grace interrupted. "Like the cereal. That's how I remembered."

"Right. Joseph Kellog. And Leo and me, of course. You and Detective Panteleoni. Was there anyone else? There were just so many people coming and going."

"That's okay. You can call me if you remember any others, okay?"

"Wait-the plumber was here. He fixed the valve upstairs. His name was Mark . . . from Triple A Plumbing."

"Okay, we'll add him to the list." It's going to be a woman, Grace thought. Probably someone you know. The plumber was a dark horse, but Grace added the man's name.

"Do you think the person who stole the milk is giving it to Annie?" Chelsea asked.

"I'd say that's likely."

"I can't believe this. If that's not a gutsy move, coming in here and stealing right from under my nose."

Grace could feel the woman's panic. "Chelsea, I know this must be a torturous situation for you, but I think this is a good development. The abductor has revealed herself by taking that milk. It's got to be someone who was in your house today. That narrows it down to about half a dozen suspects."

"And my two sisters are on the list."

"I know." Grace frowned. "We have to consider every possibility."

"We need to find Annabelle," Chelsea said. "Can't you bring them all in for questioning? Or . . . or go to their houses and do a search."

"There are a few const.i.tutional amendments standing in the way of that."

"Find Annabelle, please."

"We will." Grace looked up and saw that they were cruising slowly down a block of small Dutch Colonials.

"It's six-two-five," Chris said.

"I have to go," Grace told Chelsea. "Hang in there. I'll call you later."

She studied the house, its two upper-story windows resembling brooding eyes. "Looks too small to be a rental."

"In this part of New York, people will sublet a closet."

Chris paused over by the garbage cans beside the front porch.

"What is it?" Grace asked.

He slid a folded carton out from between the house and a plastic can. "Two boxes for baby stuff. A car seat and . . ." He turned to read the side of the box in the dim light from the streetlamp. "A stroller."

Grace sighed. "I want to get real excited right now, but I don't want to a.s.sume anything."

"I'm reserving my happy dance for when we find the baby."

Grace noticed ice at the corners of the porch stairs. No one had bothered to properly shovel, but she hoped it would all be gone soon, melted in the spring thaw. She turned to the door as Chris leaped up the stairs. "Two doorbells," she said. "Which one?"

"We'll try them both." Chris pressed the b.u.t.tons, and a buzz sounded nearby in the house.

Immediately, the cry of a baby rent the cool air. Grace felt her heart leap in her chest. Could it be?

The porch light went on, and a moment later the door was opened by a man wearing a Giants sweatshirt and jeans. The rattling cry of the baby was louder with the downstairs door open.

"Can I help you?" the man asked. He seemed to be in his late twenties, with olive skin and dark eyes that, Grace thought, were either tired or very s.e.xy, depending on how you looked at it.

Grace and Chris identified themselves and showed the man their IDs. "Sorry to bother you, sir," Grace said, "but we're looking for Helen Rosekind."

He squinted. "Who?"

When she repeated the name, he shook his head. "I dunno. It could be the upstairs tenants."

Chris pointed toward the upper story. "They're named Rosekind?"

The man scratched his jaw. "I dunno. Kiki, what's the name of the people upstairs? Rosekind?"

"That's it," a woman's voice called out from the open door of the apartment. "It's rose-something."

The woman's voice was low, with a thick New York accent-not Helen Rosekind's voice.

"h.e.l.lo in there? Do you mind?" Grace asked the man as she stepped into the vestibule.

A young African American woman emerged from the apartment, a tiny baby in her arms. The woman's short, thick hair was sc.r.a.ped back with a band, accenting her high cheekbones and amber eyes. The baby shared her warm brown complexion and wide nose.

"What a cutie," Grace said. "Sorry if we woke the baby."

Disappointment stabbed at Grace as she and Chris made small talk with the couple, Kiki and Alex Trevino, obviously the owners of the baby paraphernalia that belonged to the boxes outside. The Trevinos didn't know the upstairs tenants well; the woman and her husband had just moved in three months ago. He was a truck driver, gone for long periods of time.

"Do you know if she's a baby nurse?" Grace asked.

"We really don't see her much," the woman said. "She hardly ever leaves the apartment, and he's never home. Always doing a truck run. But I did see her wearing scrubs once or twice. I thought it was sort of like her pajamas, but she went off in her car that way."

"Is she home now?"

"I think so," Kiki said. "I heard the television."

Grace looked up the long flight of stairs. "You don't mind if we go up and knock upstairs?"

Alex shrugged. "You're the cops, right? You got E-ZPa.s.s."

No one answered the door of the upstairs apartment.

Grace knocked again, identifying herself as a police officer. She and Chris were both leaning against the wall, as if they would park here until they had a better idea, when the chain lock on the door rattled.

Grace blinked as the apartment door opened and Helen Rosekind stood there in a bathrobe.

"Mrs. Rosekind . . . or is that really your name?" Grace said carefully, studying the woman's face for signs of nervousness. She seemed calm, maybe a little annoyed.

"You are one hard woman to find," Chris said. "Do you mind if we come in for a few minutes?"

"Not now. My husband is sleeping."

"And he works shifts," Chris said. "A truck driver, right?"

"Yes. You've done your research."

"You don't make it easy," Chris said.

"I'm a private person," she said, stepping forward and pulling the door nearly closed behind her. "Is that a crime?"

Grace got a chance to see that the dining room was set up like an office, with a computer desk, a headset attached to the computer, and a file cabinet. Probably Helen's home office for her nine-to-five consulting job. There were boxes stacked by one wall, and the television was on, loud enough to be heard from the hallway.

"No crime in that," Grace said. "But ident.i.ty theft? And practicing without a license? That can get you in hot water."

"What are you talking about? I'm Helen Rosekind."

"We checked at your agency. The license they have on file for you belonged to a woman in her sixties who is currently dead. She's the real Helen Rosekind. So who are you?"

"Don't tell me that." She rolled her eyes. "I don't know where they got that information, but I am not in my sixties, and I'm not dead."

"We can see that. But you have no license on record. So you've been practicing without a license."

"Of course I'm licensed, just not in the state of New York," she said. "Rosekind is my husband's name. That agency must have made a mistake, and it wouldn't be the first time. My nursing license is from Arizona."

"Arizona? So what brings you here?" Chris asked.

The woman held up a hand, as if she had no patience for small talk. "I'm not licensed as a nurse here, but infant care is the same from one state to the other. I make sure to tell all my clients, but so far no one has cared as long as I'm on time and capable of caring for their baby. Sometimes, young couples are so desperate to get out and so overwhelmed with child care, they don't process details like that."

"So if we do a search in the Arizona bureau of records, we'll find you there?"

"Under my maiden name. Sometimes I still use my maiden name. Hold on one second." She slipped back into the apartment, closing the door behind her. A moment later she reappeared with an Arizona driver's license issued to Helen Janet Walker.

"How long have you lived in the state of New York, Ms. Walker?" Grace asked.

Helen tightened the belt of her robe. "Three years."

"And you didn't get your driver's license switched over?"

"Why should I pay a fee for that? It's still valid."

Chris scratched his head. "You know you're not supposed to use two names. That's establishing an alias. And I still can't believe the employment agency let you go on the record as Helen Rosekind. That's irresponsible of both of you."

Helen seemed offended. "The agency will have to answer for itself. Besides, that work is just a part-time thing, and I'm an excellent nurse. I would never compromise patient care."

Grace suspected that, at the very least, the woman was taking the freelance money on the side, not declaring it in her taxes. But she would be sure to check out Helen J. Walker with the Arizona Board of Nursing and the Arizona DMV.

"How about your nine-to-five job?" Chris asked. "Do they fudge the records, too?"

"First of all, I'm an insurance consultant and I don't need nursing certification for that job. And really, is this what you do? Is it standard practice for you to come to my door at eight thirty at night and interrogate me about my employment records?"

"You know why we're here." Grace's gaze locked on the woman's cold gray eyes. "We're trying to find Annabelle Green, Helen. We think you can help us."

Green folded her arms across her chest. "I don't know where Chelsea Maynard's baby is, but she's probably a lot better off away from that young lady. She's not mentally competent."

"That's not for us to decide," Grace said. "Bottom line? You've broken the law, plain and simple. Now I'd be willing to look the other way if you help us find this baby."

Helen squinted at Grace as if she were insane. "I can't help you," she said sternly. "And don't bother me again tonight. Anything else can wait until the morning."

With that, she opened the door and disappeared inside.