Birthright

come as a set. She didn’t know a hell of a lot, but he did. No way this is his first dig. I’d say the same about Matt. He’s too knowledgeable about the procedure.”
    “We’ve had others come and go since July, and we can’t be sure about them.” Jake set down his pencil. “But this core group’s probably solid.”
    “Probably,” Doug echoed.
    “We work with speculation, based on data and instinct,” Jake pointed out. “We input what we’ve got, get the best possible picture, then take the leap.”
    He picked up a marker and, taking his pad, moved over to the time-line chart.
    “I believe the police will find her, just as they’ll track down the Simpsons.” Lana lifted her hands. “Once they do, they’ll gather up the rest. You’ve already broken the back of the organization. You have your answers.”
    “There’s more. Still more underneath. I haven’t got it all.” Callie stopped pacing to stand behind Jake. “What’re you doing?”
    “Blending time lines. Yours, Carlyle’s, Dory’s.”
    “What’s the point?” Doug asked.
    “The more data, the more logical any possible speculation.” Callie skimmed the new references as Jake lined them up. The date of Carlyle’s first marriage, the birth of his son, his move to Boston.
    “Big gap between the marriage and the arrival of the bouncing baby boy,” she commented.
    “People often wait several years before starting a family. Steve and I waited nearly four.”
    “It wasn’t as usual to wait this long forty, fifty years ago. And six years plus, that’s a chunk. Lana, do you have the data on his adoption practice before Boston handy?”
    “I can look it up. I brought all my file disks. Can I use your computer, Jake?”
    “Go ahead. I’m adding on the dates of your mother’s miscarriages, the stillbirth. Be interesting, wouldn’t it, to have a look at the first Mrs. Carlyle’s medical records?”
    “Mmm. You can’t be sure, yet, that’s Dory’s real date of birth.”
    “Bound to be close enough. She’s about your age, Cal. Makes her around twenty years younger than Richard Carlyle. According to my math, Carlyle would’ve been over sixty when she was born.”
    “Sexagenarian sperm’s been known to get lucky,” Callie commented. “How old’s Dorothy?”
    “Late forties, I guess,” Doug said from behind her.
    “Well into her fifties,” Lana corrected without looking around. “But very well put together.”
    Jake nodded, continued to calculate. “Maybe ten years older than Carlyle junior.”
    Doug watched them work. It was similar to watching them cook breakfast, he thought. The moves, the rhythm. “I’m not following this.”
    “Lana?” Callie studied the segments, the lines, the grid Jake was creating. “Got anything?”
    “I’m getting it. The first adoption petition I found was filed in ’forty-six. Two that year.”
    “Two years after the marriage,” Callie murmured. “Long enough. He’d been in practice, what, six years before he developed an interest in adoptions?” She stepped back, studied the entire chart, watched the pattern and connections form.
    “It’s a big leap,” she said to Jake.
    “A logical hypothesis based on available data.”
    “What is?” Doug stepped up to the chart, trying to find what they could see that he couldn’t.
    “Richard Carlyle was the first infant stolen by Marcus Carlyle. But not for profit. Because he wanted a son.”
    Doug shoved his glasses farther up his nose. “You get that from this?”
    “Just take a look at it,” Callie insisted. “He shifts the focus of his practice two years after his marriage, six years after he began his career. What if he and his wife were having problems conceiving? He develops a personal interest in adoption, researches it, gets to know all the ins and outs of the procedure.”
    “Then why not just adopt?” Lana put in.
    “You have to speculate on his pattern.” Jake picked up the coffeepot, shook the dregs, looked hopefully at Callie.
    “Not now.”
    He shrugged, set it down again. “He likes being in charge, calling the shots. His known history of infidelity indicates a man who uses sex, and who sees his prowess as part of his identity.”
    “Not being able to conceive a child would damage his ego.” Doug nodded. “It’s all right for the next guy, that’s just great. But he’s not going to let it be known he may be shooting blanks. But then how—”
    “Wait.” Callie held up a hand. “One layer at a