Visions (Cainsville #2)(78)

The case was a personal matter. Except in a gang it seems that nothing is ever truly personal.

Sully’s ex was after him for unpaid child support. Don was pissed about it. I could see it in his face, hear it in his tone. You have kids; you pay for them. No exceptions. When Don learned of Sully’s debts, he’d paid them, with Sully owing him the money. Which would have been fine, except it came too late, Don having only found out about the problem last night, when Sully got arrested for assaulting his ex.

Whether Sully had assaulted his ex or not was a matter of debate. He swore he hadn’t. Don was still pissed. Sully had let the child support slide to the point where it seemed she retaliated, and in doing so, he’d violated club rules, which said all legal matters had to be brought to Don’s attention immediately.

Don and Sully left just before noon. Gabriel took a call before we could speak. When he came out of his office, I could tell something had happened. He waved me inside.

“The police put a rush on the DNA,” he said. “The press is breathing down their necks. When a young woman turns up dead and mutilated, the assumption is ‘serial killer,’ even if that’s rarely the case.”

“Is there a problem with the DNA?” I asked.

“It’s not a match for her mother.”

“What?”

Gabriel motioned for me to sit. “They tested against the mother. That saves any unexpected family surprises.”

“In case Dad’s not the father. You can’t lie about maternity, though.”

“Yes. But it seems Ciara Conway isn’t biologically related to her mother.”

“Could it be . . . ?” I shook my head. “Okay, I was going to suggest she was adopted and the family was hiding it, like with me, but obviously not if they asked for the DNA.” Even as I said it, my heart thudded. I guess I wasn’t completely over that shock yet.

“Olivia?”

“I’m fine. Sorry.” I forced a smile. “Back to the subject at hand . . .”

“There’s no hurry. Take a—” He cleared his throat. “I meant that if you want to . . .” He seemed to search for words.

“Take a minute?”

I’d given him crap a few weeks ago for that particular turn of phrase, one used when a client was upset. He meant it to sound sympathetic, but I always picked up that note of impatience bordering on contempt. Really, this is an inconvenient time for all this emotional nonsense. If you must, get it over with quickly, please.

This time I suspect he really was showing empathy. But it was like watching a teenage boy hold a baby, making a genuine effort while clearly as uncomfortable as hell.

“I’m fine,” I said. “So the dead body isn’t Mrs. Conway’s biological daughter. Does that mean the corpse isn’t Ciara? Or has there been a lab mix-up?”

Gabriel visibly exhaled, much happier to get back on the relatively safe ground of discussing dead people. “In reality, such mistakes are exceedingly rare. I also don’t see how the body could have been someone other than Ciara Conway. While death photos are difficult to ID—given the difference in pallor and muscle tone—there seemed no doubt this was Ms. Conway.”

“But if she isn’t the child of her parents, what does that mean? Switched at birth? Does that even happen outside of soap operas?”

“That is what you’re going to find out. I suspect the likelihood isn’t any greater than that of a lab error or misidentification, which means we’ll be looking at three equally dubious possibilities.” He tapped his pen, frowning, his gaze distant.

“Whatever the answer, I think someone knew,” I said.

“Hmmm?”

“Someone advised them to get that DNA test, when it seemed a complete waste of time and money. But it wasn’t. We need to find out who advised them. I bet he—or she—knows what’s going on here.”

Gabriel nodded. “I’ll try to make an appointment to speak to the Conways tomorrow. Are you free?”

“Until three again.”

“Good. I’ll set it up.”

—

Switched at birth. There’s actually a Wikipedia page for that, which was damned handy, but also a little disconcerting.

After my diner shift, I’d set about doing the research. As I expected, though, the idea was primarily used as a plot device. In fact, that’s what most of the entry covered—all the ways it had been used in fiction and film. The list of actual documented cases was short. Of course, one could argue that only the cases that are discovered are documented, but it would still be exceedingly rare. Modern hospitals have measures in place—like wristbands—to prevent mix-ups.

As I zipped down the Wiki entry to the sources, a line caught my eye, under “see also” links to related entries. A link for changelings. When I read that, I heard Rose’s voice.

You have no idea what a fairy circle is, do you? Which is shocking for a changeling child.

Changeling. A fairy child left in the place of a human one, to be raised by the unknowing parents. It applied to me metaphorically—my adoptive parents having raised me not knowing my true heritage.

I looked at the photo of Ciara. Another thing we had in common? A chill skittered over my skin.

I ran a Facebook search on Ciara Conway’s family. Her mother and brother had pages. I clicked her mother’s link for photos and skimmed until I found a family shot of all four Conways, taken a year ago. I enlarged the photo and stared at the screen.