Текст книги "Detective Jason Strong: The Early Cases"

Автор книги: John C. Dalglish

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Chapter 6

Springfield, Missouri was 700 miles and about 12 hours away, according to Mapquest. Michael drove all night and arrived in the Branson area just as the sun was coming up. Branson was a tourist town about 30 minutes south of Springfield, and he decided staying there would make him less likely to stand out. He found a small motel and checked in.

Worn out from the drive, he fell on the bed and slept until nearly three o’clock in the afternoon. After getting up and showering, he went to get something to eat. There was a Denny’s near the motel, and after ordering, he asked the waitress if she could give him directions. She put in his order and came back with his coffee and a local map, the route highlighted. Within the hour, was on his way to St. Luke's Hospital.

He found it easily enough, and parked near the front door. It was a modest sized beige building with three floors. One wing appeared to have been added for medical offices and it was also beige. Even most of the shrubbery was beige colored.

The inside was no brighter. Gray walls, white tile floors, and black handrails. The recent trend of cheery hospital colors had not yet reached St. Luke's.

Michael made his way across the lobby to a half-circle desk with a candy striper behind it. She seemed out of place with her surroundings. Short blonde hair, hazel eyes, and a big, bright smile. Her nametag said ‘Britney’.

“Hello. May I help you?”

“I hope so.”

Michael smiled down at her and gestured towards her uniform.

“I didn't know that candy stripers were still around.”

She appeared slightly embarrassed and made a face.

“There aren't many, but St. Luke's is big on tradition, so we still wear the outfit.”

“Well, it looks great on you. Say, I'm trying to find someone, maybe you know her. My niece and her husband had a child here and their nurse was terrific with them. I can't remember her name, but since I was in town, I thought I'd look her up and thank her.”

“Oh, how nice. I'll help if I can. What can you tell me about her?”

  “Well, as I remember, my niece said she was very short, less than five feet, red hair. Seems like my niece's husband mentioned a tattoo.”

“Oh, sure,” Britney said, her face lighting up. “That's Susan Turnbull!”

“Susan Turnbull.” Michael repeated. “Where do I find her?”

“She's a nurse in OB. It's on the third floor.”

“Okay, great. I'll see if she's there.”

“Would you like me to call and check?”

“Sure, that would be super.”

Michael leaned on the desk, while the girl with ‘Britney’ on her nametag called up to the third floor. He tried to look casual, but his mind was racing. He couldn't believe his luck. He knew that finding the woman in a big hospital, such as the one in St. Louis, would have been very difficult.

“Okay, I'll tell him,” Britney said, and hung up.

“She's already gone for the day. They said that she works again tomorrow.”

“Shit!” Michael blurted out and then quickly gathered himself. “I'm sorry, it's just that I'm leaving town tonight.”

Michael paused for a moment, looking as if he was deciding what to do next.

“Maybe I can catch her on my way back through, thanks so much for your help.”

“Not at all.” She leaned closer. “By the way, your son-in-law was right, she does have a tattoo. It's on her boob and it's a tiger!” She giggled.

He smiled and said goodbye.

“Goodbye,” said the girl with ‘Britney’ on her nametag.

****

It took Jason the better part of an hour to get across town to Michael's house. He parked across the street, got out, and went up to the garage door. There were several days’ newspapers piled up on the driveway. He peered through the garage door glass. The car was gone. Jason rang the bell but he didn't expect an answer.

The detective went around the side of the house and through the alley gate. Going up to the sliding glass door, he cupped his hands around his face, trying to see in. Nothing seemed disturbed, no sign of a struggle or a break-in.

Jason went back around front and got on his radio.

“Dispatch, this is Strong.”

“Go ahead, detective.”

“I need a black and white to help with a wellness check.”

He gave them the address, and five minutes later, a patrol car pulled up.

They used a pry tool to force the front door and entered with guns drawn.

“Michael?”

“Michael, it's Jason, you here?”

Jason moved into the living room while the uniformed officer went towards the kitchen.

“Kitchen, clear.”

“Living room, clear,” Jason called back.

The officer moved upstairs while Jason looked around the living room. The power was still on and the computer came to life when Jason touched the keyboard.

“Clear upstairs.”

“Thank you.”

Jason sat down and opened the history. The last item was a search for ‘St. Luke’s Missouri’. It showed one in Springfield and one in St Louis. He copied down the search results and shut the computer down.

Moving around the house, Jason looked for other clues as to where he might find Michael. Upstairs, he found an open closet. Several dresser drawers were open with clothes hanging out. It was clear that Michael had left in a hurry.

Jason went back downstairs and left, locking the door behind him.

Once back in his car, he called Detective Dan Carpenter in Hondo.

“Hondo Police Department.”

“Detective Carpenter, please.”

After several minutes, Dan Carpenter came on.

“Detective Carpenter.”

“Dan, this is Jason Strong, San Antonio P.D.”

“Jason, long time, how are you?”

“Good, Dan thanks. You?”

“Fine. Ran into Vanessa Layne earlier today.”

Jason's voice turned serious.

“Yeah, I know, and it's because of that conversation that I'm calling. She said you had a torture-murder case involving a Benny Carter.”

“Yeah, that's right, gruesome stuff. What's your interest?”

Jason needed to be careful.

“Do you remember the kidnapping case of the Barton baby, maybe ten years ago?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Well, the name Benny Carter came up in that investigation. Nothing serious, but just curious as to what happened to him.”

Jason could hear Dan reach over and open a file folder.

“Let me see. He had a blow to the back of his head. It looked like he'd been surprised, tied to a tree, and tortured. He had a cut face and a broken kneecap. A gunshot to the head killed him.”

“Been able to come up with a motive?”

“Not yet. Nothing at the scene gave us a direction. You got anything from that old case that might help?”

“Don't think so. He wasn't a suspect, just a name I remembered.”

“Well, if something comes to mind, give me a yell.”

“You know I will. Thanks, Dan.”

“Sure, anytime.” Dan hung up.

Jason opened his laptop, pulled up a record search and entered Benny Carter's name.

He had a record beginning at age 18. If he had a juvenile record, it was locked. The sheet was long, and extended out several Years, ending with time upstate for car theft. He'd kept his nose clean, except for a DWI, since getting out ten years ago. Jason didn't like the coincidence.

Benny had been out of prison just six months when the Barton baby was taken. Nothing in his record indicated that Benny was capable of something on that scale. The fact was, someone wanted him dead, and Jason's gut told him Michael was that someone.

He started the car. It was time to face the lieutenant.

****

Michael didn't know when Susan Turnbull's shift started, so he was up early, and parked near the employee's parking lot by 5:45 the next morning. The sky was overcast, and a spitting rain would start up every few minutes. He finally saw her about an hour after he arrived.

Short with red hair, she had apparently traded in the van Benny had described for a bright red Mazda Miata convertible. She got out, opened an umbrella, and headed quickly for the entrance.

Michael was already out and almost to the door. He turned abruptly, like he'd forgotten something, and walked back towards the nurse. As they passed, he glanced at her nametag. It read ‘Susan Turnbull’. He continued to his car. He would be back later.

****

Jason Strong knew what he had to do. He didn't like it, but there was no choice. He went in to see his lieutenant. He knocked on the glass that surrounded Lieutenant John Patton's office. The lieutenant was on the phone, but waved him in.

Jason shut the door and sat down. John Patton was a big man. He worked out every morning, including his days off, and it showed. It seemed that every muscle was controlled and toned.

The same could not be said for his moustache or eyebrows. Brown eyes were almost hidden, as was his mouth, by hair. His eyebrows were bushy and unruly. His teeth were almost surprising when he smiled, suddenly appearing from beneath the hair when he laughed.

The call ended and he looked at Jason.

“So, JD. What's on your mind?”

“John, this conversation needs to be off the record.”

His eyebrows knit together, forming a hedge.

“Alright, off the record. What's up?”

Jason went on to describe the situation, including the call from Michael. When he was done, the lieutenant leaned back in his chair and studied Jason.

“What do you propose?”

“I want permission to go to St. Luke’s, first the one in Springfield and then the one in St. Louis, to try and track Michael Barton. It's too strong a coincidence; I want to go check it out.”

“Alright, I'll go along. You check in with me every day. If I think it's a waste, I'll pull the plug and you come back. Agreed?”

Jason nodded and got up to leave.

“And JD, there's still the issue of the improper record search. When this is over, we'll have to deal with it.”

“Yes, sir. Thanks.”

****

Michael was waiting when Susan came out of the hospital. The spitting rain had given way to a full-blown downpour, and she had her umbrella up again. When she pulled out of the parking lot, Michael slid into traffic behind her. The rain made him even harder to spot, and he was able to stay well within range while following her. After maybe ten minutes, she turned and drove into an older subdivision on the north side of town. She stopped in front of a modest one-story ranch style home. Bright yellow with a green roof and green shutters.

Michael parked down the street and turned off the car. Sliding down in his seat, he waited. He thought of Benny doing the same thing, sitting in his car down his street, and watching his family. The image burned at him and fed his anger. He was getting closer every day to fulfilling his promises, he could feel it.

****

  Susan let herself into the house and folded her umbrella up. She liked the rain, and was looking forward to a quiet night of reading curled up in her favorite chair.

  After changing into jeans, she made coffee and grabbed the latest Grisham novel. She read for a while until her eyes started to get heavy. Getting another cup of coffee, she decided to take a bubble bath and continue her reading there.

With book and coffee on the edge of the tub, she slid down into the soapy water. It was her favorite way to relax. She read for a while and finished her coffee. Lathering up, she dipped beneath the water. As she came back up, wiping her eyes, there was a figure sitting on the toilet watching her. He was holding a pistol.

“If you scream, I'll kill you.”

Susan's eyes cleared and she slid down in the tub, hoping that the suds covered her.

“Who are you?! What are doing here?!”

 “Well, I'm not here to rape you, if that's what’s running through your head.”

“What DO you want...and how did you get in?”

“It’s not important how I got in. What I want, now that's a different matter.”

He smiled.

Susan looked around for something to cover up with, but she would have to get out of the tub to reach anything. She turned her attention back to the stranger.

“You don't know who you’re messing with!”

The man just stared at her. His eyes frightened her. When he spoke, it was cold, devoid of emotion.

“What I want is information, and you're going to give it to me.”

“I'm not telling you shit!!” She spat at him.

He picked up her hair dryer and threw it in the tub. Susan recoiled and closed her eyes. Nothing happened. When she opened them again, he was still sitting on the toilet and the cord to the hair dryer was dangling in his hand.

Susan started to get out, but the gun came up and aimed at her chest.

“Don't move.”

She slid back down.

“Now, where's my son?”

“I've got nothing to say.”

She did her best not to show her fear.

The intruder slowly reached over and plugged the dryer in.

Susan's body convulsed and she bit her tongue.

When he pulled the plug back out, the searing pain released. She fought to collect herself. She could taste blood dripping from her tongue. The defiance was gone. In its place was fear. He leaned forward.

“Where's my son?”

“I don't know...who...your son is.”

The look on the man's face told her that he didn’t know there were others. The thought his son may not have been the only one taken seemed to enrage him. He reached over and plugged the cord in again.

Susan let out a scream. It felt like her insides were boiling. He unplugged it, and the pain subsided.

“Baby boy…San Antonio…ten Years ago. I'm losing patience.”

“I don't know…I mean…I don’t know where.”

“Where what?”

His hand raised the plug towards the outlet. Susan panicked.

“No…stop…I don’t know where he was put.”

He plugged it in again. This time her body arched up and she spewed blood from her mouth. The bubbles around her turned red. He unplugged it.

“Last chance.”

“My…my…my brother.” She was weeping. “Number…in my…phone.”

The man held the cord, watching her as she sobbed.

“Please...please...no more.”

The man stood up, staring down at her. She had forgotten she was naked, the pain being the only thing filling her brain. She didn't care that he stared. She just wanted him to leave and she thought he was going to. At the last minute, he reached back and plugged in the dryer.

“Noooooo…”

 

Chapter 7

Detective Jason Strong got off the flight, anxious to get going. He rented a car and drove to the Springfield Police Headquarters where he was to meet Detective Sam Garner.

The front desk called upstairs to the detective and a couple of minutes later, Detective Garner emerged from the elevator. He strode—or was it shuffled?—over to Jason with his hand extended.

“Sam Garner. Nice to meet you.”

“Jason Strong.”

Jason sized up the detective. He was round everywhere. His face, his chest, his arms, his legs. He reminded Jason of the Michelin Man with a goatee.

“Come on, I'll take you upstairs and see what help I can be.”

“Appreciate it. I brought a picture of someone I think may be in the area. He's tied to a kidnapping case

from years ago and he's gone missing.”

“Was he the kidnapper?”

“No, the father of the child taken.”

Sam gave Jason a sideways glance.

“Ever find the kid?”

“Not yet.”

They got off the elevator on the third floor and Sam led the way to his desk. The room took up half  the third floor and was divided into a series of random cubicles.

Sam sat in his chair and Jason took the one on the other side. He slid the picture of Michael across the desk.

“His name is Michael Barton. The last search on his computer was ‘St. Luke’s Missouri’. It showed one here in town and another in St. Louis. I want to pay a visit there; do you know anyone I can connect with?”

“Sure, the head of security over there is an ex-cop. I'll give him a call for you.”

“Great, and can I get you to show this guy’s pic at the pre-shift patrol meetings? Maybe one of your beat cops has seen him.”

“That's no problem, can I keep this copy?”

Jason nodded as Sam picked up the phone.

“I'll call over to the hospital; when do you want to go over there?”

“Now.”

****

Jason pulled up at St. Luke’s. He carried with him another picture of Michael Barton. He didn't know if Michael had found who he was looking for at this St. Luke's, but Jason hoped someone would remember his face.

Sam Garner had made arrangements for Jason to meet the head of security, Tom Evans. When he came through the door, there was a horseshoe shaped desk attended by a young lady in a candy striper outfit.

Jason showed his badge and asked her to let Tom Evans know he was here. She smiled, picked up the phone, said a few words and hung up again. While he was waiting, Jason pulled out the picture of Michael and showed it to her.

“Have you seen this man?”

She studied the photo before shaking her head.

“No, not that I remember.”

Tom Evans walked up and extended his hand to Jason.

“Detective Strong, I'm Tom Evans, nice to meet you. Sam asked me to give you any help I can. He and I go way back.”

Jason shook his hand and looked back at the girl behind the counter.

“Thanks for your time…Jessica, is it?”

“Yes, and you’re welcome. Sorry I wasn't more help.”

Tom led Jason to his office while Jason filled him in. They agreed to take the photo from floor to floor, first the nurse’s stations, and then the offices. They completed their tour two hours later. Nobody recognized the photo. Jason knew if he came back the next day, there would be different staff, but he didn't want to waste time that could be spent getting to the St. Luke’s in St. Louis.

He thanked Tom for his help and told him he'd call when he decided whether he would return the next day or not. As he walked past the entrance desk, he saw that a different girl was there. He stopped to show her the picture.

“Hi. My name is Detective Strong.”

He showed her his badge.

“Could you tell me if you've seen this man?”

This girl’s nametag read ‘Britney’. She looked at the photo for a moment.

“Yeah, sure. I remember him. He was here a couple days ago.”

“Really? Are you sure?”

“Yes. It was definitely him.”

“Can you remember what he wanted?”

“Sure. He wanted to know if I recognized the description of a nurse he was looking for.”

“And did you?”

Jason's mind was racing.

“Actually, yes. He was looking for Susan Turnbull. He said she took care of his niece and he wanted to thank her.”

“Did he see her that day?”

“No, she had gone home already. I think he said he'd stop in on his way back through from somewhere. I don't remember where, though.”

“Is there anything else you can remember about the meeting?”

“Just that he seemed very upset to find she was not still at work. He swore and then apologized.”

“Britney, thank you very much. You've been a big help. If you think of anything else, will you call Tom Evans in security?”

“Sure. Is that man in some sort of trouble?”

Jason didn't hear the question. He was already on his way to the security chief's office. Tom Evans was back at his desk when Jason got there.

“Jason, forget something?”

“No. I just showed the picture of my guy to a candy striper at the desk and she gave me a positive ID. She said he was in a couple days ago asking questions about a Susan Turnbull. You know Susan Turnbull?”

“Sure, nurse in OB.”

“How about an address?”

Jason was dialing Sam Garner.

“Detective Garner.”

“Sam, Jason Strong. I may have a lead on my guy.”

The security chief slid a piece of paper with an address and phone number in front of Jason. As Jason relayed the address to Sam, Tom called the number.

“Just got an answering machine.”

Jason let Sam know.

“You know where the address is?”

“Yeah, I'll pick you up in ten.”

I'll be waiting.”

****

 

Stan Turnbull climbed the steps out of his pool and grabbed the towel hanging on the fence. He tried to get a swim in every morning before starting his day. This morning was no different.

Most of the backyard was taken up with the Olympic-sized pool. Across the back and down the sides of the property was an 8-foot high, wooden privacy fence. Blue morning glories grew over most of it. Attached to the back of the one-story house was a covered patio. He toweled himself off as he walked to his chair. The sun was out and the day promised to be hot.

He sat down, sipped his coffee and opened the paper. He couldn't focus, and after a feeble attempt at the crossword, he set it down. Details ran through his mind. He was planning the next “adoption” and things had to be just right to make it equally as successful as the others.

He needed to call Benny and see if he wanted in on another deal. He had tried a couple of times, but had not got an answer. Picking up the phone, he punched in the number again. It rang three times before picking up.

“This is Benny, you know what to do. Wait for…”

Stan clicked off. He didn’t leave messages; they were loose ends that could be traced back to him. He took another sip of coffee and decided to call his sister. He punched her speed dial number.

“This is Susan, sorry I can’t answer. Leave a message.”

He hung up before the beep.

“What's the deal? Is no one around?”

He heard the click of a gun hammer being pulled back.

“Sure, Stan. I'm here.”

Stan started to turn around, when he felt the end of the gun barrel press against his skull. He froze. A black leather bag dropped into his lap.

“Who are you? What is this?”

“Open it...put ‘em on.”

Stan didn't recognize the voice.

“And if I refuse?”

There was a tremendous explosion next to Stan’s ear, which was followed by shattering glass. The gun returned to the back of his head, but this time, the end was hot, and burned him. Stan’s head spun with the noise.

“Open...it...and…put...them...on.”

When Stan had gathered himself, he fumbled with the bag until the contents spilled out into his lap. Two sets of handcuffs. A chill ran down his spine and he hesitated.

“Put them on, the feet first.”

As Stan leaned forward to cuff his feet, the gun never lost contact with his body. It travelled down his neck and his back as he bent over, then retraced the path as he straightened up.

“Now the hands.”

Stan complied.

The stranger walked around in front of Stan and took a chair opposite the cuffed man. The gun remained pointed at Stan's chest.

“So, do you recognize me?”

“No, but I won’t forget your face, I promise you that.”

“Maybe if I showed you a picture of my son.” He pulled a picture of a baby out for Stan to see. “He has my eyes, don’t you think?”

Stan just stared at it. It was starting to dawn on him what this was about, and fear quickened his pulse.

“Picture doesn’t jog a memory?”

Stan didn't answer.

“Well, about ten Years ago, my son was taken

from my home.”

Stan just stared off in the distance, no longer looking at the picture.

“How about Benny Carter? Do you remember him? Lived west of San Antonio; he seemed to remember you.”

Stan pretended not to hear, but now he knew which kid this was all about. He looked around, trying to find a means of escape, some way to turn the tables in his favor. He didn’t see one.

****

Michael stared at the large man. This was the man behind it all. The one ultimately responsible for what had happened to his son. And now Michael was convinced that whoever had his son knew that he didn’t belong to them. The darkness in him swore that they would pay, too. And to do that, he needed information, and he needed it from the man in front of him.

“Stand up.”

Stan slowly got to his feet as Michael moved around behind him and put the gun in his back. He shoved him forward. Stan stumbled in the cuffs and almost fell. Regaining his balance, he swung around to face Michael.

“Whoever you are, you’re going to regret this!”

Michael bore into the large man with an icy stare. He picked up the pole to the pool skimmer and without saying a word, jabbed it into Stan’s massive chest. Stan teetered backwards, getting ever closer to the edge of the pool.

“Where's my son?”

“I’m not telling you a damn thing!”

Michael smiled.

“Oh, you will, or you’ll learn to swim with those cuffs on.”

All the blood drained out of Stan’s face and Michael thought he might pass out.

“I…I don’t remember...”

“Really? Your sister seemed to remember.”

The look on the big man's face told Michael he had struck home. Panic filled his eyes.

“When did you talk to her? Where is she? Is she okay?”

“Well, let’s see, I saw her yesterday…she’s at home…and whether she’s okay or not probably depends on your point of view.”

Michael's smile was mocking.

“You son-of-a…”

Michael jabbed Stan hard, forcing him back, almost tipping him over the edge.

“You better start talking right now, and I don’t mean calling me names.”

“Okay…okay...Duncan...the last name was Duncan.”

“More, I need more!” Michael held the pole to the man’s chest.

“Come on, man, it was ten Years ago. I can’t remember everything.”

Michael exploded.

“You’re telling ME it’s been ten Years? I’ve suffered every day of every month of every Year since that day.”

Michael increased the pressure of the pole against the big man.

“Now, you tell me more.”

“Alright...”

Stan had grabbed the end of the pole with his cuffed hands.

“He sold homes…Wade…Wade Duncan and his wife—Katie, I think.”

Michael pushed harder.

“Where did they live?”

Stan was at the edge of the pool now and in a full-blown hysteria.

“Here in town…south side, I think”

Michael relaxed slightly, his smile returning.

“Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

 All at once, Michael lunged forward, shoving the pole hard into Stan’s chest. Stan clawed at the pole as he started to fall backwards. Everything went into slow motion. As Stan began a backwards descent into the water, his eyes grew wide with terror. Michael leered at him, continuing to push with the pole until there was no stopping the big man's momentum. Michael stepped closer to watch him fall into the water.

The sound of a huge splash was followed by thrashing, as Stan tried to turn himself over as he quickly sank. It was too deep for him to stand, so when he reached the bottom, he bent his knees and thrust himself up. His head cleared the water long enough to get a breath. Again, he sunk quickly. He repeated the process a second time, just barely getting his face far enough above water to catch a breath. He thrashed around; trying to stay at the top, but his weight was his curse. He went back to the bottom.

On the third try, the man didn't have enough strength to get to the surface, and Michael watched in morbid fascination as Stan was forced to suck in water instead of air. Within a short time, all motion on the water’s surface stopped, and Stan Turnbull lay on the bottom of the pool. Michael stared for a long time until finally he was confident that the big man was dead.

He spit on the water, turned, and walked away.

****

Sam and Jason pulled up at Susan Turnbull's home. Everything appeared quiet. Together they approached the door and rang the bell. After no answer, Sam rang it again. Finally, Jason knocked on the door. It swung open. Both detectives drew their guns. Jason pushed the door all the way open.

“”Susan Turnbull! Springfield Police!”

Sam nodded his head to indicate that he was going to search the living room. Jason headed down the hall.

Sam called out “Clear!” several times, as he checked the living room, dining room, and two bedrooms. Jason checked the kitchen and then the master bedroom.

“Clear!”

Moving to the master bath, Jason pushed open the door.

“Sam!”

Sam came around the corner and stared at the bathtub.

“I'll call it in.”

An hour later, Jason was outside, leaning on Sam's car. The house was crawling with cops and techs. Sam came out, said a few words to a uniformed officer, and walked over to Jason.

“Electrocuted, hair dryer. Not a nice way to die.”

Jason looked up.

“Accident?”

“Not likely.”

“I agree, I think it was Michael Barton.”

“Nothing's been found to suggest him, but it makes sense. We know he was looking for her, but what's the connection?”

“I don't know yet. Any family to notify?”

“Yeah, brother lives on the other side of town. I sent two uniforms to the house.”

“Okay, drop me at my car?”

“Sure, I'm done here.”

****

Michael returned to the motel, satisfied with the way Stan had met his fate. He even thought Tammy would have approved. And now, his son was within reach. He had a name: Wade Duncan. It was only a matter of time.

He poured himself a drink and pulled out his laptop. A search for ‘Real Estate Agents, Springfield, Duncan, took only seconds to pull up the smiling face of Wade Duncan, complete with a short bio. Michael studied the photo for a long time. This was the face that his son called “Dad”. He hated him.

Sipping his drink, he read the bio.

Wade Duncan was employed at Golden Century Realty on Battlefield Road. Twice he had been top salesman of the year for the central division, and a member of the Million Dollar Club. He also was a member of the local Chamber of Commerce. The last line said that he was married with two children.

Michael stared at it for a long time. Two children. He knew that one child was his kidnapped son, but he couldn't help but wonder if the other child was someone else's missing baby. The Duncan’s had to be in on it; they had to know that these children were someone else's.

He sucked on his drink. Maybe he could return two children to their rightful parents. He was sure that Tammy would be very proud.