Twenty-one

“Are you sure it’s him?” Nettie Brown asked down the crackling telephone line. “Are you really sure?”

Billie took a moment to answer her client. She was sure, the little woman in her gut was sure, and that curly hair was uncannily like that in the photograph, but it was best to exercise caution when it came to something like this. “I am very confident it is your son, Mrs. Brown,” she replied, “but I can’t positively confirm it. Only you or your husband can do that. The boy fits Adin’s description, but the timing of his being taken to the hospital is right only if he spent some days elsewhere before being found.”

“Elsewhere?”

“That’s correct,” Billie said, and did not elaborate. She looked around the nurses’ station. The staff was giving her space, but the nurse who had helped her caught her eye, her blue eyes shining with hope. Billie gave her a smile and a nod and cradled the receiver close to her ear again.

“But where?” Mrs. Brown pressed, and Billie did not answer.

“He’s in and out in terms of his memory, the doctor says. Try not to be too upset if he does not recognize you right away,” she told her client in a low voice. “He’s been through a lot, I suspect. A concussion, some abrasions and cuts, and a back injury, though the doctor thinks he will recover in time. But he can’t be moved, Mrs. Brown. Not yet.”

There were no words now, the line crackling.

Then Billie detected a wet, indecipherable sound. Her client was sobbing, she realized, and a part of Billie went to pieces at the sound of the dignified and reserved woman’s raw emotion. When she’d recovered herself, Mrs. Brown vowed to leave work immediately and drive up to identify her son at the hospital. Billie had allowed room for some doubt as to the boy’s identity, but she felt very confident indeed that they had their young man. This was a great outcome, as long as he recovered from his ordeal.

“Just one thing, Mrs. Brown,” Billie added, cupping her hand around the mouthpiece and speaking in a low voice. “I want you to listen to me carefully. Perhaps you should consider keeping fairly quiet about Adin’s identity and condition, until we know what happened to him.”

There was a pause. “What do you mean? The case is closed, isn’t it? You found him.”

“I believe so. But what we don’t know is—”

“I want the case closed if you found him. That is final.”

Billie had thought this might happen. “I understand. I’m off the clock now, Mrs. Brown, if that is what you want,” she reassured her. The Browns didn’t want any surprise expenses, she appreciated that. Her fee would be forty pounds, representing four days’ work, but she suspected the Browns were barely holding on financially. “Unless you want more from me or the courts come calling, my work is finished. I’m confident I have found your son, but if you find otherwise I want you to let me know. However, I daresay there may be a criminal element at work here, and the police could be interested once your son is able to recall what happened to him. For the moment, at least, I would advise that you reveal his condition and location to only those who absolutely must know,” she warned.

“But we’ve been so worried. Everyone knows we are looking for him . . .”

“I recognize that, Mrs. Brown. Nonetheless, that is my advice.”

Again, the line was quiet. Billie waited patiently. This turn of events would be a lot for Mrs. Brown, or any person, to absorb. “You think he is in danger of some kind, don’t you?”

Billie believed that was possible, but she didn’t want to alarm the woman needlessly. “Can I wait for you here?” she responded cautiously.

“Thank you, there is no need.”

“Are you certain, Mrs. Brown? It’s no problem for us to stay here for a few more hours. It would be good to see—”

“My husband and I will be there soon. Thank you for finding our son. We are very grateful, but your work is done now.” Mrs. Brown’s tone was firm. “We just want our son back.”

Billie nodded and gave Sam a knowing look. “I understand. Good luck, Mrs. Brown.” Billie meant it. Thoughtfully, she hung up the telephone.