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Sam opened the folder and read through the pages inside. “Uh, did we know they had an adopted son who they rehomed after he was violent with their other children?”
“What? No. I’ve heard nothing about that.”
As a tingle of excitement attacked her backbone, her dyslexia picked then to kick in, making the words on the page a scrambled mess to her. “Fucking dyslexia. Read this out loud.” She handed the page to him.
“It’s dated October 10, four years ago. By order of the District of Columbia Courts, Family Services Division, the adoption of Isaiah Blanchet (nee Wiley), age of thirteen, is voided. Isaiah Wiley is hereby remanded to Child and Family Services for foster placement. All parental rights and privileges previously granted to Marcel and Liliana Blanchet are hereby terminated.”
Freddie glanced at her with a “holy shit” look on his face. “Who do we know at Child and Family Services?”
“Dolores Finklestein.” She’d been the social worker assigned to the twins after their parents were murdered. Nick had called her Ms. Picklestein, and Sam had lived in fear of calling the woman that to her face.
They stared at each other for a hot second, a silent communion that came with working a case and finding a lead that might be the proverbial needle in a very big haystack.
“I’ll call her,” Sam said. “You talk to the grandmother.” Sam was on her way out of the conference room when she stopped and turned back to him. “That is… if you approve of that plan.”
“I approve. Go to it.”
Sam went into her office and sat behind the desk. The name Dolores Finklestein provoked a PTSD reaction in her as she recalled the process of bringing the twins into their family and the significant roadblocks they’d had to overcome with Dolores’s agency. In the end, she’d been a huge help to them, but her name brought back memories of a time Sam would rather forget.
She made the call to Dolores’s personal cell phone.
“Mrs. Cappuano. This is a surprise. Is everything all right with the twins?”
“Yes,” Sam said. “They’re doing great. I’m calling you as Lieutenant Holland about a case.”
“What can I do for you?”
“Have you heard about the Blanchet family murders?”
“I’ve just returned from a cruise to the Bahamas with my sisters and need to catch up on the news.”
“Does the name Blanchet mean anything to you?”
“Should it?”
“A child adopted by them was returned to your custody four years ago. Isaiah Wiley.”
“Oh God,” she said. “Oh no.”
“I take it you recognize his name?”
“I do, and I remember them, too, now that you’ve refreshed my memory with his name. He was a deeply troubled child who went through hell in the system before being adopted by the Blanchets. Our entire agency celebrated him finding his forever home, but the arrangement was problematic from the start. Despite intense family therapy, he resisted the rules set forth by his new parents, and when they welcomed more children into the family, Isaiah became openly hostile toward them. The Blanchets tried everything to make it work with him, but they began to fear for the safety of their other children.”
Sam’s heart broke for a child who’d never had a chance in life. “What became of him after he left them?”
“He lived in several foster homes before he landed in a group home. I haven’t heard anything more about him in a while, but I could check with my colleague who is his case manager if you’d like.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
“I’ll have Therese give you a call on this number?”
“That works. Thank you so much.”
“No problem, and may I say… The actions of the Joint Chiefs are an outrage. They don’t represent regular Americans like me, who think your husband is doing a wonderful job.”
“Oh.” Sam had never been more stunned, which was saying something. “Thank you for that. I’ll pass it on to him. He’ll appreciate it.”
“Tell him to stay tough. The people are with him.”
