Her pretty brows cinched together. “In what way?”
“I can’t tell you. Confidentiality and all. But I will say I think I know who approached you and why.”
She bowed her head. “Because I was homeless with a newborn. That’s why they approached me.”
I wasn’t about to go into the fact that her baby probably had some kind of aura that caught the Fosters’ attention, so I went along with her story. “I’m sure. Why were you homeless?”
Mr. Isom stood in the kitchen, listening to every word we said.
She glanced that direction, then said, “I was a mess back then. On and off drugs. I’d stayed clean, though. Once I found out I was pregnant, I got clean and stayed that way. Then, after I had Liana, her father came back into the picture.”
I felt a deep fury emanate from Mr. Isom’s general direction. Clearly, his daughter’s ex didn’t invoke the warm and fuzzies.
“He said he wanted to help raise our daughter. Talked me into moving in with him. A month later”—she dipped her chin even farther—“I was back on the shit and we were fighting all the time. He kicked me out, but I couldn’t come back home. I wasn’t ready to go through that again.”
“To go through—?” I stopped myself. Of course. “The withdrawals.”
She bit her lip and nodded.
“He got you hooked again?”
“He didn’t force me into anything.” The guilt radiating out of her stole my breath.
I leaned toward her. “But he took advantage of the situation, Veronica.”
“He led. Didn’t mean I had to follow. And yet, here we are.” Her breath hitched in her chest and I picked lint off my sweater, giving her a moment to recover.
I didn’t argue with her. She was right, of course, but I’d wager he still deserved a lot of the blame.
I decided to steer the conversation back to the case. “There’s a reason you’re having a hard time finding evidence that the adoption agency existed. It was never licensed.”
She nodded. “Yeah, that’s what the investigator said, but he can’t track down who actually ran the business. Or the fake business.”
I pulled up the side-by-side picture I had of the Fosters that Cookie had found from around the time they’d taken Veronica’s baby.
“I know this might be impossible to remember, but is this them?”
She looked at the picture. Squinted. Turned it a little to the left. “I don’t think so.”
My hopes plummeted. Maybe I was on the wrong track. Barking up the wrong tree. Grasping at straws. And any other cliché I could think of.
“I think…,” she continued, staring at the Fosters. “I think that’s the couple that actually adopted her.”
I straightened, hope blossoming. “You remember them?”
“No.” She stood and went for her purse. “I never met them, but the agents gave me a picture of the couple who was going to adopt Liana to make me feel better about the whole thing. I was really hesitant. I dug it out when … when they found her.”
She pulled out a picture.
I took it and almost cheered aloud. “It’s them,” I said, recognition rocketing through me. “So, a different couple approached you for this couple?”
“Yeah, they seemed a little too Jesus freak, but I figured anything was better than living in a drug-infested squalor.”
“Except for living with us,” her father said, his tone bitter.
“Dad, stop it. It wasn’t you. You know that.”
He turned and went back into the kitchen.
“Veronica, how old were you?”
“I was sixteen.” She glanced over her shoulder. “After they took Liana, I did it. I got clean again. I decided I was going to try to get her back. I know that’s a shitty thing to do, but it was so sudden. I only had a few days to think about it. I thought I was giving her a better home. All this time, I thought she was living a life I couldn’t give her. A better life. And they … they killed her.”
She covered her mouth with her hands and let a suffocating agony wash over her. Her shoulders shook and I moved beside her. Wrapped an arm around her as she tried to gather herself.
If they’d kidnapped other children, why go through the trouble of pretending to adopt Veronica’s baby? Why not just take her?
“Veronica, where were you living exactly?”
“At the time, I was living in a shelter.”
That could explain it. Shelters often locked their doors at a certain hour. Maybe the Fosters couldn’t get in. Maybe they could only get to her when she panhandled, but there were too many people around? And it was surely during daylight hours? That had to be it.
“Okay, I’m working with a detective on this, or I will be soon. I promise you, Veronica, I’ll help you in any way I can. In the meantime, send your PD to Detective Robert Davidson.”
The room cooled about thirty degrees instantly, and she backed away from me.
“What?” I asked, knowing the answer before she said it.