Where is the Baby? Read online

  ‘That’s a promise,’ he said, his face all tight and angry, even though he smiled at her. ‘Think you could show me that van and the baby?’

  ‘Maybe. There’s lots of cars out there.’

  ‘Tell you what,’ he said. ‘We’ll drive around and see if you see it. How would that be?’

  ‘Drive around in a van?’ she asked, pulling back a bit.

  ‘No, no. It’s a police cruiser.’

  ‘Is that like a car?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘You won’t lock me up, make me stay inside?’

  ‘Nope. Let’s go see if we can find the van and get the baby. Then I’ll take you to a place where some nice folks will look after those cuts and scrapes and make sure you feel all right, while me and my buddies try to sort things out.’

  ‘Okay.’ She watched the two policemen put Wolf and Toadman’s hands behind their backs, then put shiny silver things on their wrists. ‘What’s gonna happen to them?’ she asked.

  ‘That depends on a lot of things,’ the officer told her. As they were passing down an aisle with towels and sheets, he took a big towel from a pile on a table and wrapped it around her. Then he picked her up and carried her towards the entrance. The towel was soft, and feeling sleepy all at once, she put her head on his shoulder. ‘What’s your name, Mister?’ she asked him.

  ‘Brian,’ he answered, his voice sounding funny. His arm held her secure as he took her through the store and outside into the heat to a blue and white car. ‘This is the cruiser,’ he explained. ‘You’re going to sit right up front with me while we see if we can find the van. Okay?’

  ‘Okay.’

  He set her down on the seat, then closed the door and went around to the driver’s side. She looked at all the buttons and dials while he started the engine, hearing little voices coming from somewhere.

  ‘What’s that?’ she asked, leaning forward.

  ‘What’s what?’

  ‘It sounds like tiny little people talking inside here.’ She put out a hand and touched the dashboard.

  He laughed and said, ‘That’s the police radio. You’re a sharp little cookie.’

  ‘What’s that mean, Mister Brian?’

  ‘It means that you’re very smart.’

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘I have a daughter about your age.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘She’s almost five and her name is Lucia.’

  ‘That’s a nice name. I never heard it before.’ She looked out at the rows of cars. ‘I think it’s way at the back. When I looked out the window, there weren’t any other cars close by. Do you think maybe I’m almost five, like your girl?’ she asked.

  ‘You might be a little more, or a little less.’

  She gazed out the window, considering the information. ‘Maybe that’s how old I am. Nobody never told me. Oh look, Mister Brian!’ she exclaimed. ‘There it is! Over there!’ She pointed to the far end of the lot. ‘I see it!’ she said excitedly, her pointing finger jabbing at the air. ‘It’s the one with all the black windows.’

  ‘Good girl!’ He picked up his microphone and spoke into it, saying he wanted some uniforms to check for a baby in the back and put in a call to DCF, and a tow to load up the van. As he put the microphone down, he looked over at her, asking, ‘How did you get out of there?’

  ‘With a knife and fork.’

  His eyebrows drawing together, he said, ‘What?’

  As they parked across the way from the van, she explained to him how she’d got the window open.

  ‘And that’s how you hurt yourself?’ he asked.

  ‘I cutted my hand with the knife when it broke. And I hurted my foot ’cuz it got caught in the window when I climbed out. I fell down on my hands and knees. See!’ She held her hands palm outwards to show him.

  ‘And how did you get these?’ he asked, indicating the insides of her elbows.

  ‘Toadman does those with his cigrets when I’m bad. I got more, if you wanna see,’ she offered, reaching to raise the bottom of Wolf’s T-shirt to show him.

  ‘No, that’s all right.’ He stopped her hand. ‘Bastard!’ he whispered fiercely, his face going tight again.

  ‘Toadman calls everybody bastard, ’specially when people piss him off. Did I piss you off?’

  ‘Not one bit. You’re doing great, and nobody’s going to hurt you anymore. You’re going to be looked after now.’

  ‘Unh-hunh,’ she said disbelievingly, looking at him thoughtfully, as if trying to make a decision. ‘Mister Brian,’ she said cautiously, ‘I’m very hungry. Nobody gived me any food today ’cuz they said I was bad yesterday when I holded the baby until she went asleep. They telled me to put her down but I wouldn’t. But I’ll be good now. I promise.’

  ‘I’ll get you something to eat as soon as the officers get here for the baby.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said, gazing at the partially open window of the van. The baby. Even when she cried and screamed, it felt good holding her, especially when the baby was all heavy, asleep. She liked the baby better than anything, ever. But she didn’t want Toadman and Wolf to hurt the baby . . . no cigrets or other bad stuff. She gave her head a little shake, thinking about that.

  ‘What would you like to eat?’ the officer asked, drawing her eyes back to him.

  ‘A cheese burgler an’ fries,’ she said in a rush. ‘An’ a chocolate shake?’

  ‘Whatever you want, honey. Anything at all.’

  ‘Thank you very much, Mister Brian,’ she said softly, keeping her eyes on the van, wondering if he’d get on top of her after he gave her the food.

  TWO

  On his way back from a quick trip to the men’s room, Brian Kirlane heard one ER nurse telling another that she planned to give that revoltingly filthy child in cubicle two a bath before she was examined. Overhearing this, Brian marched over to the woman and said, ‘Hey! You do not touch that kid! The chief wants photos and someone’s on the way. So until the photographer gets here nobody goes near that little girl.’ He paused to draw in an uneven breath – the anger was like some weird kind of animal, crawling around under his skin – then he said, ‘You’re supposed to know that. Is this your first day on the job or are you just generally clueless?’

  ‘Well, excuse me all to hell!’ the young woman snapped.

  ‘There’s a protocol,’ he said, brimming with anger. ‘Or did you wake up today and decide to ignore all the rules?’

  ‘What’s biting your ass?’ the young woman shot back, her round flat face now red.

  ‘Right now, it’s you. You don’t ever clean up a victim. It’s SOP.’ Insults crowded into his mouth and it took every bit of his self-control not to let them out. At that moment he wanted to annihilate her, rid the world of her.

  ‘I was just about to tell her that,’ the second nurse interjected quietly.

  ‘Oh, screw you both! I don’t need this shit!’ The flat-faced nurse whirled around and flounced off. Brian watched her bustle away, then turned to look at the second woman.

  ‘She’s down from pedes ’cause we’re short-staffed. There was no one on to handle the kid. I’ll call up and get them to send somebody else. Sorry about that,’ she said, reaching for the phone.

  ‘She’s an idiot,’ Brian said, unwilling to let go of his anger. It was keeping his attention off more dangerous emotions roiling in his chest: violent feelings he’d never had before. Altogether he felt barely in control, as if the smallest thing would send him over the edge.

  ‘Let’s bring it down to room temperature now. Okay, Officer? I wouldn’t have let her get that far. So she’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but cut her some slack. She’s from another world. Upstairs, if they need it, the kids get washed on admit.’

  ‘It’s her goddamn attitude I can’t take. Nobody can tell her anything. I wouldn’t want her around a kid of mine, pedes or wherever.’

  ‘Have to agree with you on that,’ the nurse said, starting to dial. ‘Wouldn’t let her touch one of my kids either
.’

  Mollified somewhat but still in a temper he knew was unreasonable, Brian went back to the curtained-off cubicle. The young candy striper he’d asked to babysit while he was gone was staring disconsolately at the child on the gurney who sat, still wrapped in the beach towel he’d grabbed at the Kmart, grinding grimy fists into her eyes. For some reason the blackened soles of her little feet touched him terribly, almost as much as her greenish teeth that had obviously never encountered a toothbrush, and her dark, depthless eyes.

  ‘You can go now,’ he told the teenager. ‘Thanks a lot.’

  The girl at last lifted her eyes from the child, and said softly, ‘You’re welcome,’ then hurried away, visibly relieved to be going.

  ‘You okay, honey?’ Brian asked.

  ‘I’m sleepy, Mister Brian. Where’s the baby?’

  ‘Someone’s coming to take pictures of you, and then the nurses will give you a bath before you see the doctor. After that, you’ll be able to have a good, long sleep.’

  ‘But where’s the baby?’

  ‘They’re taking care of her. I think she’ll be going home soon with her parents.’

  ‘She wanted her mama. She cried for her all the time.’

  ‘I’m sure she did.’

  A pause, and then, ‘What’s a bath, Mister Brian?’ she asked apprehensively.

  Jesus! Brian thought. ‘You’ll get washed up nice and clean. The nurses will probably find something for you to wear, too, instead of that T-shirt.’ She was naked under the stained oversized shirt, and she reeked. Obviously it had been a very long time since anyone had taken real care of her. Dirt circled her neck, was crusted in the bends of her arms and legs. She was filthy from top to bottom. The visual evidence of how neglected she was revived his anger, made his teeth clench.

  She yawned hugely, her whole body shuddering with it. ‘Please, can I see the baby?’ she asked, looking past him at the doorway. ‘She liked me,’ she said almost inaudibly. ‘She letted me hold her.’

  ‘I’ll find out about that soon as I can. Meanwhile, you go ahead and rest until the photographer gets here. I can see you’re very sleepy.’

  ‘I won’t get in trouble? Toadman gets mad if I go asleep when he didn’t say I could.’

  ‘You won’t get in trouble. Just lie down. Go on now.’ He reached for the cotton blanket on the shelf and unfolded it as she curled up on her side on the gurney. Covering her, he couldn’t resist running a hand over her greasy chopped-off hair, noticing as he did that the roots were fair. The bastards had not only hacked off her hair, they’d been dying it dark – maybe to keep her from being recognized.

  She lay gazing at him so intently that he found it unnerving. He gave her a smile he hoped was encouraging, and whispered, ‘It’s okay, honey. Sleep.’

  ‘Okay, Mister Brian.’ But her gaze remained on him.

  ‘Sleep,’ he whispered. ‘It’s okay. Just close your eyes.’

  At last, as her eyes fluttered closed, he sat down on the one chair in the cubicle and breathed slowly and deeply, reluctant – as the candy striper had been, but no doubt for entirely different reasons – to take his eyes off her. Having given his promise to keep her safe, he had the arbitrary idea that if he looked away, even for a moment, she’d be back in harm’s way. So he sat and watched her tuck her small soiled hands under her cheek and almost instantly fall asleep. He watched, promising himself he’d go check on the baby’s status once the photographer arrived.

  Stricken by her deplorable condition but filled with admiration for her ingenuity, he told himself that if her family couldn’t be found, he’d tell DCF that he’d take her in. He couldn’t imagine that he and Janet wouldn’t qualify as foster parents. He knew Janet would be okay with it. When it came to kids, they were on the same wavelength. And Lucia would probably be thrilled to have a live-in playmate. Okay, it was a fantasy, but he hated the idea of this kid getting put into the system, maybe winding up in a situation as bad or even worse than the one she’d just escaped from. Granted there were some decent foster parents out there. But some of the people were pure scum, taking in kids just to get the monthly checks. Some of them did things that kept him up at night, sitting in the dark in the living room, trying to get the images out of his head and battling the urge to drink himself into oblivion.

  His second month as a cop almost seven years earlier, he and Chuck took a call from one of the worst downtown areas. ‘Anonymous female caller says there’s a kid screaming at this address,’ the dispatcher told them. ‘Caller said there’s always a kid screaming in there.’ Brian remembered what they had found as if it was yesterday.

  The battered and bloodied body of a skeletal seven-year-old on the front hall floor, limbs twisted in ways they were never meant to go. The skinny, ferret-faced, forty-something woman – whiskey voice and an aggrieved attitude – standing over the child, sucking on a cigarette, while Brian checked for a pulse he knew wasn’t there.

  ‘Clumsy kid fell down the goddamn stairs again,’ the whiskey voice said conversationally.

  With open disgust, Chuck looked at the woman, saying, ‘Yeah, I can picture it. He fell. Sure. That’s what happened. You didn’t starve him or beat him or toss him down the fuckin’ stairs. You didn’t do any of that, no.’ Without taking his eyes from her, he said, ‘Bri, check see if there’s anyone else in this shithole while I give the homicide boys a buzz.’

  ‘What’re you talking, homicide? What homicide? I told you. Goddamn kid fell. Was always falling, for chrissake.’

  ‘Lady, you don’t want me tossing you down the stairs, shut the fuck up and sit your ass over there where I can keep an eye on you.’

  ‘You can’t talk to me that way!’

  ‘I am talking to you that way, you evil piece of shit. Sit the hell down there and shut your face!’

  She sat as told on an armchair just inside the dark, crowded living room, glaring at him: close-set eyes, hate-filled shiny beads.

  Upstairs, two more emaciated little boys in stinking underwear huddled together on the stained mattress in a tiny bedroom like a cell: no sheets, a torn blanket, peeling wallpaper, bare floor, some ratty, reeking clothes heaped on the floor. ‘Two more up here,’ Brian called down.

  ‘I’ll get DCF in!’ Chuck called back. Moments later Brian could hear him on the phone.

  Then, as Brian brought the gaunt, trembling pair down the stairs – maybe five or six years old – Chuck squeezed the cuffs on the woman’s scrawny wrists, tight as they’d go. The smaller boy whispered, ‘She killed Paulie. Always kickin’ and punchin’ him. Him screamin’, beggin’ her to stop but she wouldn’t never, ever.’

  The other boy suddenly shouted, ‘i hope you get beat and beat and die like paulie! i hope they make you dead!’ Then he broke into noisy sobs. Two tiny, fleshless bodies shaking, hands clinging. Victims of an indoor atrocity.

  Later, after two women from DCF wrapped the pair in blankets and took the kids away, after the body was removed, the homicide guys were doing the scene. Brian and Chuck were ready to transport her for booking, and the woman complained about the cuffs. ‘Loosen these things! They’re too goddamn tight!’

  In a voice thick with feigned concern, Chuck said, ‘Oh, poor you! Does that hurt?’ and shoved her so hard her head smashed into the door frame. ‘Ooops!’ Grabbing her by the hair, pushing her head down, he tossed her into the back. ‘Gotta be careful there, Missus, watch what you’re doing. Next thing ya know, being so clumsy, you could fall down the stairs and hurt yourself.’

  Sliding behind the wheel, in a low voice, Chuck said, ‘Hate these evil fuckin’ people, hate these fuckin’ dead kid calls.’

  Six months later, Chuck got himself promoted to a desk. ‘Can’t take the ugly anymore, Bri,’ he said apologetically. ‘Come see me now ’n’ then, ’kay? Lemme know how you’re doing.’

  Brian kept handling the calls with his new partner, Hal. He couldn’t have said why, until today when dispatch sent them to the Kmart to see this grimy tyke, with
intelligence just shining off her, as if she was lit from inside. So much fear, yet such courage. And, underneath it all, whimsy.

  So maybe the seven years had been preparation for today, for dealing with this little girl who belonged to some family that might come rushing to claim her. He sure as hell hoped so. But if not . . . if not . . .

  Determined to handle the case with the greatest care, the chief put out a call to Connie Miller. With the advent of mandatory sensitivity training in the department some months earlier, she’d been called upon to do the photography for new cases with increasing regularity, primarily in instances of aggravated rape or assault involving young females or children and, only sometimes, adult women. As far as the department was concerned, her greatest asset was that no matter how traumatized the victim might be, Connie managed to get the shots. Her congenial kindness enabled her to deal with the subjects without adding to their pain. She’d even been known to make some of them laugh. How she did it was a source of wonder to the men in the department. The few women on the force understood her magic from the start.

  Connie had inherited her mother’s clear deep-set blue eyes and her father’s wide nose and heavy jaw. She was less than five feet tall, a plain-looking woman – until she smiled and became lovely in a singularly compelling fashion. Her smile was like an unexpected gift, containing great heart and gentle humor. When she came to the ER to document their injuries on film, she treated every female with quiet respect. She took a moment to lift the hair away from a girl’s eyes, or made funny, self-deprecating remarks – about the difficulty of buying size five shoes, or about her forays into children’s departments to buy clothes, or about her mad mop of black curly hair. ‘Imagine trying to persuade someone to cut this.’ She’d smile and tug at a handful of glossy curls. ‘About as easy as finding a sweater in the kids’ department that doesn’t have ABCs or teddy bears on it.’

  Keeping up a constant, distracting patter in a low voice that had a melodic, slightly foreign cadence, she got the pictures taken before the subject had a chance to feel ashamed or embarrassed. Connie swept around the woman or child like a small whirlwind, chatting and clicking away, the speed-winder zizzing as she shot thirty-six exposures which, without exception, were sufficient. Finished, she’d tenderly wrap her subject in the hospital gown, or sheet or blanket – whatever the nursing staff had given them – and with an affectionate smile, or squeeze of the hand or pat on the arm, she’d say, ‘You’re just wonderful. Thank you so much for helping me.’ Then she’d leave, go directly to the nearest rest room, close herself into a stall, and either throw up or weep. Minutes later, her emotions once more rigidly under control, she’d be headed to the police darkroom or to her studio to process the film.