Leslie’s stomach growls, but she does not want to eat anything until after the cops leave, so she ignores her stomach and concentrates on her computer. She reads about how Amy had been rushed to the hospital with a broken leg when she was ten. It was said to be an accident, but the article hints that Senator Robertson may have had something to do with it. Another article methodically lists all the emergency trips the Robertson children had taken to the hospital in their childhood, and it was pretty long. Then again, with five children in the family, it was only natural that accidents would occur. The most interesting part of the article was the statement that Mrs. Robertson had been rushed to the hospital herself once when Jack Jr. was thirteen-months old. She had been rumored to have been pregnant with baby Robertson number six, but no one could verify that tidbit. At any rate, there was no sixth Robertson baby, so people freely speculated as to whether Mrs. Robertson had miscarried, and if so, whether Senator Robertson had caused the miscarriage.
Leslie’s mind is swirling with all the information. The more she reads, the more she’s convinced that there’s something in Amy’s childhood that isn’t being reported. What’s more, when she unearths this thing, it will clear up a lot of the questions surrounding Amy’s murder—of that, Leslie is dead certain. And, of course, if she can solve Amy’s murder, she will solve John’s murder as well. With that in mind, Leslie turns back to Google to see if she has missed anything. Unfortunately, the problem is that Amy’s childhood was pre-internet, so nothing was recorded for posterity. Of course, the fact that her father is a politician means there’s some dirt available, but not enough. At some point, she may have to talk to Amy’s family, but Leslie pushes that thought to the back of her mind for now. Leslie doesn’t have much use for family—which is not surprising given hers.
Mrs. Chang left her old job when the girls were six-and-a-half. By then, she and Mr. Chang were sleeping in separate bedrooms, but there was no question of divorce. Taiwanese people did not do that, and it would have brought great shame to both their families. She was still a secretary, but she no longer had to put up with Mr. Pederson’s advances. Mr. Chang finally got a job as an adjunct philosophy prof at the U, so their financial worries were eased somewhat. However, Mrs. Chang was now an alcoholic, albeit a functioning one, and she had no intention of giving up the bottle. Mr. Chang had long since given up arguing with Mrs. Chang about her alcohol consumption. In fact, he pretty much emotionally checked out from the marriage when Mrs. Chang made it clear that she had chosen the bottle over him.
“Nice costume,” she said admiringly, looking me up and down. “Where’s Rafe?”
Per agreement, they didn’t try to find the teenager or even speculate about whom she might be. Mrs. Frantz was too tense to relax, but Mr. Frantz managed to enjoy much of the local flavor, especially the spirits of the land. He was fond of rum, which was plentiful in supply. Mrs. Frantz sat in their hotel room and waited, dreaming of her baby boy. By then, she knew she was getting a son, but she was cautious about investing too much emotion in him until she actually held him in her arms. She just sat with the lights out, gazing outside her window, not really seeing anything. Her husband would try to coax her to join him in his revelry, but she rebuffed him firmly. When the first day melted into the second day, she began to get jittery. Their lawyer had said the baby was born already, so she didn’t see the problem. She was afraid to voice the fear niggling the back of her mind—the birthmother had changed her mind. The second fear—the birthmother wanted more money. There was none to be had. The Frantzes had to borrow heavily to come up with the ten thousand, not to mention the trip to Tijuana.
