pregnancy?
They were obvious questions. But they couldn’t be answered in the court records-all of which were sealed.
Tim Brown had told him there was nothing he could do to open court records.
“We’re going deeper than that, Mr. Baxter. We’ll have to.”
John had done his best to cooperate. When his answers were not quite clear or a little hesitant, Tim Brown had pushed him, asking three more questions for every answer John gave. “I’d rather have too much to check than too little,” he told John.
That had been a week ago, and now here he was.
The sound of footsteps echoed in the hall, and John drew a Jong breath. God, if it’s okay, can You let Elizabeth watch? Can You tell her how much I wish she were beside me right now … please?
“Mr. Baxter?” Tim was a compact man with a runner’s build.
John stood, and the two shook hands. “Thanks for seeing me.”
“Sorry you had to come in. Like I said … the information is 44
very sensitive.” A seriousness filled the man’s eyes. “Why don’t you follow me?”
Something occurred to John as he followed him down a boxy hallway. Maybe the investigator wanted to give him this information in person because he’d found something terrible. Maybe their oldest son had enlisted in the service and been killed in action a decade ago. Or maybe he’d died in a car accident or from some sort of illness.
Maybe he was behind bars for some heinous crime.
Those were the sorts of details a PI couldn’t possibly feel comfortable sharing over the phone. Peace, God… give me peace. Be with me, whatever the news might be….
I am with you always, My son.
This time there was no mistaking the small whisper in John’s soul. The words were part of Scripture, something he’d read a hundred times before. But he needed them now more than ever. He felt his shoulders relax a little.
“Here we are.” Tim Brown opened a door halfway down the hall and moved straight to the simple office chair behind the desk. He motioned to the other one on the opposite side. “Have a seat.”
John did. He took hold of the chair arms and focused on feeling the Lord’s peace once more. He was about to ask if the news was good or bad, but already Tim was opening a file half an inch thick at the center of his desk.
“Mr. Baxter, I’ve found your son.”
The room began to spin. John leaned forward, studying the investigator’s eyes, his face. Was the news that was coming somehow tragic or heartbreaking? John couldn*t read the man. He swallowed hard and found the words. “Is he… is he alive?”
The man twisted his face, confused by John’s question. “Of course.” Then his expression eased. “You thought if I wanted you to come in person then maybe . .
.”
“Well, yes.” John felt warm relief shoot into his veins. “I was 45
concerned.” But not anymore. No matter what else the investigator had found, their son was alive. That much alone was enough to make goose bumps rise along his arms and neck.
“Wow …” Tim Brown tapped his fist on his forehead a few times. “I’m so sorry.
I never meant to put you through that. Sometimes I get so caught up in the answers in front of me that I expect a client to read my mind. I should’ve told you that I’d found him and he was alive. That much you could’ve known over the phone.”
“Don’t worry about it.” John wanted the guy to move on. He slid to the edge of his chair and folded his hands on the desk. “What is it then? What did you find?”
The man bit at the inside of his cheek and shook his head. “Once I located your son, once I figured out who he was, my search led me to another investigator in Los Angeles. The two of us have mutual friends in the business. He wouldn’t confirm anything, but he did say that he’d worked with your son in the past.”
What? The room was spinning again. Their son had hired a private investigator at some point? Tim Brown was on a roll; John stayed glued to every
They were obvious questions. But they couldn’t be answered in the court records-all of which were sealed.
Tim Brown had told him there was nothing he could do to open court records.
“We’re going deeper than that, Mr. Baxter. We’ll have to.”
John had done his best to cooperate. When his answers were not quite clear or a little hesitant, Tim Brown had pushed him, asking three more questions for every answer John gave. “I’d rather have too much to check than too little,” he told John.
That had been a week ago, and now here he was.
The sound of footsteps echoed in the hall, and John drew a Jong breath. God, if it’s okay, can You let Elizabeth watch? Can You tell her how much I wish she were beside me right now … please?
“Mr. Baxter?” Tim was a compact man with a runner’s build.
John stood, and the two shook hands. “Thanks for seeing me.”
“Sorry you had to come in. Like I said … the information is 44
very sensitive.” A seriousness filled the man’s eyes. “Why don’t you follow me?”
Something occurred to John as he followed him down a boxy hallway. Maybe the investigator wanted to give him this information in person because he’d found something terrible. Maybe their oldest son had enlisted in the service and been killed in action a decade ago. Or maybe he’d died in a car accident or from some sort of illness.
Maybe he was behind bars for some heinous crime.
Those were the sorts of details a PI couldn’t possibly feel comfortable sharing over the phone. Peace, God… give me peace. Be with me, whatever the news might be….
I am with you always, My son.
This time there was no mistaking the small whisper in John’s soul. The words were part of Scripture, something he’d read a hundred times before. But he needed them now more than ever. He felt his shoulders relax a little.
“Here we are.” Tim Brown opened a door halfway down the hall and moved straight to the simple office chair behind the desk. He motioned to the other one on the opposite side. “Have a seat.”
John did. He took hold of the chair arms and focused on feeling the Lord’s peace once more. He was about to ask if the news was good or bad, but already Tim was opening a file half an inch thick at the center of his desk.
“Mr. Baxter, I’ve found your son.”
The room began to spin. John leaned forward, studying the investigator’s eyes, his face. Was the news that was coming somehow tragic or heartbreaking? John couldn*t read the man. He swallowed hard and found the words. “Is he… is he alive?”
The man twisted his face, confused by John’s question. “Of course.” Then his expression eased. “You thought if I wanted you to come in person then maybe . .
.”
“Well, yes.” John felt warm relief shoot into his veins. “I was 45
concerned.” But not anymore. No matter what else the investigator had found, their son was alive. That much alone was enough to make goose bumps rise along his arms and neck.
“Wow …” Tim Brown tapped his fist on his forehead a few times. “I’m so sorry.
I never meant to put you through that. Sometimes I get so caught up in the answers in front of me that I expect a client to read my mind. I should’ve told you that I’d found him and he was alive. That much you could’ve known over the phone.”
“Don’t worry about it.” John wanted the guy to move on. He slid to the edge of his chair and folded his hands on the desk. “What is it then? What did you find?”
The man bit at the inside of his cheek and shook his head. “Once I located your son, once I figured out who he was, my search led me to another investigator in Los Angeles. The two of us have mutual friends in the business. He wouldn’t confirm anything, but he did say that he’d worked with your son in the past.”
What? The room was spinning again. Their son had hired a private investigator at some point? Tim Brown was on a roll; John stayed glued to every
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