Chương 8
A missing newborn felt like the kind of event that should produce satellite trucks and solemn people standing beneath hospital signs.
Instead the hallway contained breakfast trays and physical therapists.
Detective Brooks had kept the case quiet while investigators tried to locate the child.
Claire’s boss, Monica, texted after finally getting her phone number through Margaret.
Claire, do not think about work. We have everything covered. Also Kevin jammed the label printer again and I may murder him, so normal life continues.
Claire read the message three times.
Then she typed: Thank you. Don’t murder Kevin until I get back. I want to watch.
She deleted it.
Then typed it again and sent it.
At nine-twenty, Brooks called.
She was downstairs.
She arrived with another detective, Carlos Medina, who carried a thick paper folder despite seeming like the kind of person who would prefer everything digital.
They closed the door.
Brooks said, “We located the transfer company.”
Claire sat straighter.
“Where is she?”
“We’re working on that.”
“What does that mean?”
Medina opened the folder.
“A company called Blue Finch Family Services arranged transportation from Hawthorne at 3:48 a.m.”
“Where did they take her?”
“The company says the destination on the work order was a private residence in Dublin.”
“That’s twenty minutes away.”
“Yes.”
“Whose house?”
“The property is owned by a limited liability company.”
Claire stared at them.
“You know who owns the company.”
“We’re tracing it.”
“Eleanor.”
“We don’t know that yet.”
“Did you go to the house?”
Brooks answered. “Yes.”
“And?”
“No one was there.”
Claire’s breathing changed.
The room seemed smaller.
Medina leaned forward.
“Claire, the transport nurse reported the baby was stable throughout the trip. She personally handed the infant to a licensed newborn care specialist at the residence.”
“Name.”
“We’re contacting her.”
“Name.”
Brooks said, “Janine Cross.”
Claire repeated it.
“Did she take Sophie somewhere else?”
“We believe so.”
“Why?”
“According to the agency, the family requested a location change around seven yesterday morning.”
“After I woke up.”
“Yes.”
Someone had known.
Margaret’s fear had been right about one thing.
The moment Claire remembered, Sophie moved.
“Who requested it?”
“The request came through an online family account created under the name Claire Morgan.”
Claire stared.
“My account?”
“A new account in your name.”
“With my phone?”
“Possibly.”
Medina slid a page from the folder.
“We need to ask about one more thing. Is this your signature?”
Claire looked.
A printed document.
TEMPORARY NEWBORN CARE AUTHORIZATION.
Her name.
Her address.
Her date of birth.
A signature that looked almost right.
Too right in the wrong places.
Claire had a habit of crossing the second stroke of the M in Morgan because a high school art teacher once told her signatures were supposed to have rhythm.
This one did not.
“No.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
She pointed.
“I don’t make that loop.”
Brooks examined it.
“Could your signature have changed recently?”
“No.”
“How certain?”
“Very.”
Medina asked, “Does your sister have documents containing your signature?”
“Yes.”
“Does Eleanor?”
“Probably. Michael and I signed a lease together once. She helped with the security deposit.”
Brooks and Medina exchanged a glance.
Claire saw it.
“What?”
Brooks said, “The document was uploaded from your phone.”
Claire looked at the ceiling.
For a few seconds she wanted to be unconscious again.
Not because unconsciousness was peaceful.
Because waking required choices.
“Can you find where it was uploaded?”
“We have a warrant request in process for account records.”
“So wait.”
“For that piece, yes.”
“I’m bad at waiting.”
“Most people are.”
“No. I’m actually bad at it. I pick at things.”
Brooks looked at her fingers.
Claire realized she had torn the edge off the hospital wristband.
She stopped.
“Tell me what I can do.”
Brooks did not answer immediately.
That irritated Claire.
“I mean it.”
“Think.”
“About what?”
“Anything Eleanor said during your pregnancy. Any place she mentioned. Any person she trusted. Any doctor she recommended. Any argument about where the baby should live. People usually make choices inside patterns they already have.”
Claire leaned back.
Eleanor Hart lived in Upper Arlington in a brick house she and her husband had bought when Michael was twelve.
Her husband died six years ago.
She volunteered at an arts foundation.
She hated driving at night.
She distrusted hotels because she believed bedding was never really clean.
She had a lake condominium near Sandusky, but it was almost three hours away and Eleanor disliked being far from her cardiologist.
None of that seemed useful.
Then Claire remembered a conversation.
Not because she went searching for it.
Because a housekeeping employee rolled a bassinet past the open doorway.
Empty.
Plastic sides.
A folded blue blanket inside.
Claire’s mind went somewhere else.
Michael assembling a crib in his sister’s house years earlier.
Michael had a sister.
Rebecca.
Claire sat upright.
“Eleanor has a daughter.”
Brooks waited.
“Rebecca Hart. Michael’s older sister. They barely speak.”
“Why?”
“Michael said Rebecca married someone Eleanor hated. Then they divorced and Rebecca moved back to Ohio. I only met her twice.”
“Where does she live?”
“I don’t know.”
“City?”
“Maybe Granville. Or Newark. Somewhere east.”
Medina started typing.
Claire continued.
“Rebecca had a baby who died.”
Both detectives looked up.
Claire’s mouth went dry.
“Years ago. Before I knew Michael well. Stillbirth, I think.”
“Does Eleanor have contact with her?”
“Michael said almost none.”
“Why would she take Sophie there?”
“I don’t know.”
Then she did.
Or part of it.
“Because Rebecca knows newborn care.”
“How?”
“She was a postpartum nurse.”
Medina was already working his phone.
Brooks asked, “When did she stop?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where did she work?”
“Not here. Somewhere near Newark.”
Brooks stood.
“We’ll check.”
Claire reached for her arm.
Not dramatically.
Just fingertips against a coat sleeve.
Brooks stopped.
“Please.”
The detective looked at Claire’s hand, then at Claire.
“We’ll check.”
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It took two hours.
Those two hours contained a shower with a plastic cover over Claire’s IV, a call from Monica, half a bagel, three useless attempts to read a news article, and Margaret arriving with clean socks.
