Chapter 19
-
Peoria, Illinois
Drake stared at the adoption records clerk across the scarred laminated counter. She shook her head for the third time in ten minutes. Her graying hair was pulled back in a tight bun that looked like it hadn’t moved since the Truman administration.
“I’m sorry, but you cannot see those records.
Illinois sealed adoption records require a court order,” Brenda Cruz repeated with professional sympathy but remained firm.
“There are narrow exceptions for the biological parents or the adoptees, which don’t apply to you.
Not for private investigators, not for other family members, not for anyone without a judge’s signature. ”
Drake had expected bureaucratic obstacles, but he’d underestimated just how ironclad the system would be. His usual charm offensive worked on records clerks from Houston to Miami. But it was hitting a brick wall with Brenda Cruz.
“What if I told you this was a matter of life and death?” he tried.
“Then I’d tell you to get a lawyer and file a petition with the court.” Cruz leaned back in her chair. “Life or death could qualify as good cause, depending on the circumstances. Good cause is a legal term. It means a legally viable reason for the judge to unseal the records and let you see them.”
Drake nodded. He understood the legal requirements. He already knew good cause was a high bar in adoption cases. Judges protected sealed records unless there were compelling reasons to open them.
He had compelling reasons, but he couldn’t share them with her.
“How long does the whole process usually take?” Drake asked.
“Depends on the court’s schedule and how compelling your case is. Could be weeks, could be months. Most petitions get denied unless you have relevant medical emergencies or other serious circumstances.”
Cruz was being helpful within the bounds of her job. After several attempts to persuade, and her absolute refusal to budge, Drake could see this avenue would take too long and might not succeed anyway.
Drake thanked her and walked back to his rental car through the echoing marble corridors. The Honda’s interior still smelled. Acrid reminders of gunshots and burning upholstery clung to the fabric seats.
He snagged his encrypted satellite phone and pressed the redial.
Flint answered on the second ring. “How’d it go with the adoption records?”
“About as well as a failed root canal.” Drake started the engine and pulled out of the courthouse parking lot.
“That bad, eh?” Flint said with a grin in his voice.
“Worse,” Drake replied with a scowl. “Illinois doesn’t mess around with sealed adoptions. Sealed means locked and buried forever. We’re looking at petitions, months of legal proceedings, and no guarantee of success.”
“That’s what I was afraid of. Work-arounds?”
“I’m heading to the Illinois Department of Children & Family Services office now. Foster care records from before the adoptions might be less restricted. Maybe I’ll find a lead,” Drake said. “Where are you?”
“About an hour out. Call me when you’re done at DCFS and we’ll make a plan,” Flint replied before he disconnected.
Drake navigated through Peoria’s late afternoon traffic, following the GPS through a maze of one-way streets and construction zones.
This part of the city felt gray and tired under overcast skies. Heavy dark clouds pressed down like a wool blanket, threatening snow.
Industrial Midwest at its most uninspiring. Strip malls and fast-food restaurants stretched along the main roads. Occasional abandoned storefronts punctuated the decay with going-out-of-business signs from years past.
The DCFS office occupied the ground floor of a concrete building that looked like it had been deliberately designed to avoid sunlight. Brutalist architecture at its most depressing.
Inside, fluorescent lights buzzed like angry wasps and turned the worn linoleum floors the color of old mustard. Cracked and broken plastic chairs that had seen better decades lined the walls.
Drake approached the reception desk where a tired-looking woman was pecking at a keyboard with two fingers. She typed without enthusiasm, suggesting she’d rather be anywhere else. Her desk was cluttered with coffee-stained paperwork and a small plastic Christmas tree as decrepit as everything else.
“I’m hoping you can help me locate foster care records.” He deployed his most winning smile.
“You’re family?” she asked without looking up from her computer.
“Private investigator.” Drake showed her his Texas license.
She barely gave it a passing glance. He checked her name plate.
“Ms. Stevens, we’re working on an identity theft case.
My client is an elderly widow whose late husband left her a small inheritance.
A woman claiming to be the husband’s illegitimate daughter from a previous relationship showed up and my client has been sending her money.
The widow’s son hired me to verify whether this woman is really who she claims to be.
If she is, my client has a sister he wants to get to know.
If she isn’t legitimate, then she’s a scammer.
She says her name is Lisa Peterson. Everything I’ve learned so far suggests she’s a scammer. ”
That got her attention. She stopped typing and looked at him with renewed interest.
“Identity theft from the elderly is serious business,” Stevens replied. “People should go to prison for that.”
“Very serious and yes, if she’s a scammer she needs to go to prison,” Drake said as if he were warming up.
“I located several women named Lisa Peterson and ruled them out. I tracked the last one to Ravenswood, Illinois. Records and witnesses say she was killed in a bus accident. Her three children went into foster care and then were adopted. I need to interview her children before the scammer bankrupts the widow, or worse.”
“What would be worse than scamming a sick old lady out of her money, leaving her alone and destitute?” Gloria asked, as if she could think of nothing more reprehensible.
Drake cleared his throat but didn’t argue since Gloria seemed to be softening. “She probably has several widows and widowers involved in her scam. They often do.”
“That’s disgusting.” Gloria studied his card more carefully until she made up her mind. She squared her shoulders. “I’ve got a sick, old mother and I’d do everything in my power to stop someone like that from scamming her. You got names for the kids?”
“Melvin, Dennis, and Carolyn Peterson.” Drake cleared his throat and put a pleading note into his voice.
“I’ve hit every possible dead end up until now.
If I’m going to help these people, the real Lisa Peterson’s children are my last chance.
You’d be doing a real public service if you helped me out. ”
Gloria turned to her computer and typed for several minutes. Drake watched her expression shift from bureaucratic indifference to something that looked like recognition.
“Peterson kids,” she said finally after she skimmed through the summary reports. “I remember that case. That poor woman and her children went through enough.”
“You worked here back then?”
“Been here twenty-eight years next month.” Gloria’s fingers continued clicking across the keyboard. “They all had it rough. The mother was all the family those kids had. We tried to locate other family members at the time but had no luck. Sad situation. Very sad.”
Drake felt his pulse quicken. “What makes you so certain about the family?”
“Well...” Gloria glanced around the office to confirm they were alone and then leaned closer.
“I lived over in Ravenswood back then. Met Lisa Peterson several times at the convenience store where she worked. She was the real deal. A devoted mother who’d clearly been through hell to protect her children.
And so young, too. Anyone using her identity now to scam is despicable. ”
“Now’s your chance to help her take care of those kids,” Drake said, nodding with a winsome smile as he stretched his neck to peer at her screen.