The Kindest Lie(62)
She kept searching online, scrolling past the most recent stories, and found in the Indianapolis Star an account of an attorney named Stanley DeAngelo, who’d gotten busted several years ago for bribery, extortion, and tax fraud. Apparently, he and his law partner had misused client information to enrich themselves.
Just as she was about to exit out of the article and move to the next one, she noticed that DeAngelo had been implicated in numerous cases of adoption fraud stretching from Ganton to Indianapolis. One case centered on a teenage girl who gave birth about twenty miles from Ganton and promised her baby to a couple who never got the child. DeAngelo absconded with all the money the couple had paid during the girl’s pregnancy. According to the article, he had drained the bank accounts of several other hopeful couples who wanted babies, but never got them.
Ruth couldn’t imagine the pain those couples must have felt. And what happened to the babies? She searched for other articles and found a few local news sources that repeated what was said in the Indianapolis Star article. Could this DeAngelo have been involved with her son’s adoption? She couldn’t find news about any other shady adoption stories concerning a lawyer with ties to Ganton. Maybe it was this guy. If everything had been legit and legal, Mama would have said so. But her haunted eyes and tightly sealed lips made Ruth suspect there was more to the story.
Ruth leaned back in her seat and rubbed her temples. DeAngelo had been convicted in 1999, just two years after Ruth had the baby, and he went to prison for falsifying adoption records and the other crimes. Her stomach churned thinking of her family’s possibly having gotten involved with somebody like this.
The photo in the article showed DeAngelo in a gray suit, white dress shirt, and red tie, posing in front of a bookshelf, maybe his law library. He had a pinched nose and a cleft chin. More than likely a publicity headshot from his practice.
On the Indiana Department of Correction website, she typed “Stanley DeAngelo” in the offender name search field. The results came up a moment later: No information found. There was an option to search by the offender’s number, which was useless because she didn’t know it. This man could have answers about her son’s identity. She had to find another way to track him down.
Twenty-One
Midnight
A late holiday afternoon with no homework or chores stretched before the boys, long and tempting. Sebastian went bowling with his family and Pancho went Christmas shopping with his aunts, leaving Midnight and Corey to scratch boredom’s itch.
Midnight tried not to think about what Daddy had said about sending him away. His father hadn’t said to never play with Corey again. Just not so much. Not to get in trouble. Today didn’t count as so much or trouble.
Outside Leo’s auto shop, they tried to hold their balance sitting on their lumpy backpacks. After pushing each other off a few times, it got old fast.
“We can play video games at my house,” Corey said.
Midnight scooped a handful of snow and stood to smash it into a stop sign. If he and Corey just ran into each other out playing, they couldn’t help it. But if he actually went over to his house right now, that would mean he planned it and Daddy would say he’d broken the rules.
“Nah, I have a better idea,” Midnight said.
He spotted a green dumpster nearby, flipped it on its side, and opened the lid. Holding his breath, he dove in headfirst.
“What are you doing? Are you crazy?” Corey said.
Going deeper into the trash heap, Midnight waded through half-eaten subs, ripped tire rubber, an empty pork ’n’ beans can, carburetor cleaner, pizza scraps, and a bolt cutter.
A bolt cutter. Yes. That would work. Its jaws were worn down, likely from years of use and repeated sharpening. With his good hand, he shoved it in his backpack.
“What’s that for?”
“You’ll see. Let’s go.”
Midnight’s fingers and toes tingled as he ran through downtown to the outskirts of Ganton. When he licked his lips, he tasted his own snot and then spat in the snow. His breathing pounded inside his head. Corey kept pace with him, his body small, athletic, and lean enough to run for miles without panting. The next thing he knew, Corey had passed him, but slowed down since he didn’t know where they were headed.
“We’re almost there.”
“Where?”
A few dozen feet later, they came upon an old fence that wrapped around a large piece of land. They heard a low rustling.
“What’s that?” Corey said.
“It’s just the wind.”
“Where are we?”
Snow covered a heap of scrap metal about twenty feet high. Something hot and primal raced through Midnight’s body. A high he couldn’t explain, but he felt it every time he did something risky.
“It’s the junkyard. Daddy brought me a bunch of times last summer. You can find lots of cool stuff.”
“But it’s winter. Nobody’s even here.”
Midnight smiled and pulled the bolt cutters from his bag. “I know.”
A padlock hung on the fence’s gate to keep intruders out. Midnight gripped the brass body of the lock. “Help me out,” he called to Corey.
“You’re breaking in. We’re gonna get in trouble,” Corey said, his eyes widening.
“I come here all the time with my dad. No big deal. Just help me hold this. They’re like big scissors.” Together, they wrapped the bolt cutters around the lock and squeezed until they heard the crunching sound and it split in two.