I made a list of their names.
And then I heard a baby crying.
When I opened my eyes, I was still on the sofa, my laptop closed, with Martha on the floor beside me. She was whining in her dreams.
The digital clock on the DVR showed a couple of minutes before seven in the morning. I had a terrible realization. This was only my second night in our apartment as a married woman, and it was the first time, ever, that I’d slept in the same house as Joe but not in the same bed.
I poured out some kibble for Martha, then peeked into the bedroom where Joe was sleeping. I called his name and touched his face, but he rolled over and went deeper into sleep. I showered and dressed quietly and then walked Martha up and down Lake Street, thinking about Joe and our marriage vows and about what it meant to be part of this team of two.
I would have to be more considerate.
I had to remember that I wasn’t single anymore.
A moment later, my mind boomeranged back to Avis Richardson and her missing baby.
That child. That child. Where was that baby?
Was he lying in the cold grass? Or had he been stuffed in a suitcase and into the cargo hold of a ship?
I called Conklin’s cell at 7:30, and this time I got him.
“Avis Richardson goes to Brighton Academy. That’s one of those boarding schools where parents who live out of state park their kids.”
“It might explain why no one is looking for her,” Conklin said. “I was just talking with K-9. The hounds are going in circles. If Avis was transported from point A to point B by car, that would have broken the circular trail.”
“Crap,” I said. “So, she could have delivered the baby anywhere and then been dumped by the lake. No way to know where point A was.”
“That’s what I’m thinking,” he said.
“I’ll meet you at the hospital in fifteen minutes,” I said. “Avis Richardson’s memory is all we’ve got.”
When we got to Avis Richardson’s hospital room, it was empty, and so was her bed.
“What’s this now? Did she die?” I asked my partner, my voice colored by unadulterated exasperation.
The nurse came in behind me on crepe-soled shoes. She was a tiny thing with very muscular arms and wild gray hair. I recognized her from the night before.
“It’s not my fault, Sergeant. I checked on Ms. Richardson, then went down the hall for a quarter of a minute,” said the nurse. “This girl of yours scampered when my back was turned. Appears she took some clothing from Mrs. Klein in the room next door. And then she must’ve just walked the hell out of here.”
Chapter 7
AT 8:30 THAT MORNING, Yuki Castellano was sitting at the oak table in a small conference room in the DA’s Office on the eighth floor of the Hall.
Predictably, she was anxious.
Right now, she was running a low-grade anxiety that would heat up as it got closer to the actual start of the trial.
Today was a big day. And a lot was at stake.
She’d put in a year of work on this case, and it was all going to happen in less than half an hour. Court would convene. Dr. Candace Martin would go on trial for murder in the first degree, and Yuki was the prosecuting attorney.
Yuki knew every angle of this case, every witness, every crumb of physical and circumstantial evidence.
The defendant was guilty, and Yuki needed to convict her, for the sake of her reputation in the office and for her belief in herself.
Yuki was satisfied with the jury selection. The case folders stored on her laptop were in perfect order. She had exhibits in an accordion file, and a short stack of index cards to prompt her in case she got stuck while giving her opening statement.
She’d been practicing her opener for several days, rehearsing with her boss and several of her ADA colleagues. She’d rehearsed again with her deputy and second chair, Nick Gaines.