Chương 6
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“I thought it was one of those lead-generation things. You were thirty-seven weeks pregnant and worrying about the furnace making that clicking noise.”
“The furnace was making a clicking noise.”
“I know.”
Andrea said, “Do you still have the number?”
Evan pulled out his phone.
The detectives were called back.
The number had no name attached.
Hale photographed it.
“What did the man sound like?”
Evan closed his eyes.
“Middle-aged. American. Kind of polished. He called me Mr. Mitchell every other sentence.”
“Did he give a name?”
“I don’t remember.”
Lauren said, “Try.”
“I am.”
Evan scrolled through his call history.
Then stopped.
His face changed.
“Pierce.”
Lauren’s hand tightened on Noah.
“What?”
“He said Lionel Pierce.”
Detective Hale looked toward the door.
That was when the hospital’s problem became something that had started before Lauren arrived.
Hale asked Evan to forward screenshots and any voicemail.
There was one.
Evan had never listened to it.
The detective played it on speaker.
A man’s calm voice filled the room.
“Mr. Mitchell, Lionel Pierce following up regarding the family assistance program we discussed. No urgency. Just trying to confirm a few details before the delivery window. Give me a call when convenient.”
No urgency.
Delivery window.
Lauren felt sick.
“They were watching us.”
Hale said, “We don’t know that yet.”
“They knew when I was due.”
“That may have come from information your husband provided.”
Evan looked horrified.
“I might have told him the due date.”
Lauren turned toward him.
He winced.
“I thought he was offering help.”
She looked away.
“I know.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
That almost made it worse.
Lauren wanted someone to be guilty in a way that removed everyone else’s mistakes.
Instead, Evan had answered a phone call because they owed twenty-four hundred dollars on the heating system and had argued twice about whether Lauren should return to her elementary school job after twelve weeks or eight.
Dana had taken money because her mother’s care cost more than she could afford.
Margaret had used whatever power she possessed for reasons Lauren still did not know.
Small pressures had made openings.
Someone had studied those openings.
At 9:15, Rebecca returned with news that a section of overnight security footage from the nursery corridor was unavailable.
The hospital lawyer stood behind her.
Lauren laughed once.
“Of course it is.”
Rebecca’s jaw tightened.
“The camera system shows a restart at 3:31.”
“Who restarted it?”
“We’re determining that.”
“For how long?”
“Seventeen minutes.”
Evan stood.
“No.”
Lauren touched his hand.
He did not sit.
“Seventeen minutes?”
Rebecca nodded.
“The recording resumes at 3:48.”
“What happened during those seventeen minutes?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Dana had said Noah was in the procedure room for less than twelve.
The times overlapped.
Lauren looked at Detective Hale.
“That’s not an accident.”
“I agree it needs explanation.”
The lawyer said, “A technical failure is also possible.”
Every face in the room turned toward him.
He cleared his throat.
Rebecca said, “Stop helping.”
He looked offended.
Lauren almost liked her.
Then Hale asked about access logs.
Rebecca said they were intact.
At 3:29 a.m., Dana’s badge opened the nursery medication-room corridor.
At 3:32, another badge opened the small procedure room where Dana said Noah had been taken.
The badge belonged to Celeste Ward, a nurse from postpartum who was not scheduled that night.
At 3:46, the same badge opened a staff stairwell.
No record showed Celeste leaving through the public exits.
“Where is she?” Hale asked.
Rebecca’s answer came quietly.
“We can’t reach her.”
At 9:37, Lauren finally agreed to let Noah sleep in the bassinet.
She kept one hand on the rail.
Evan sat on the windowsill with terrible coffee from the vending machine, staring at the parking garage.
They did not talk.
The room smelled like eggs, antiseptic, and baby skin.
Lauren picked at the adhesive edge of her IV dressing until Evan gently moved her hand away.
“You’ll rip your skin.”
“I know.”
She started picking again.
He removed her hand again.
This time she let him.
“What if he wasn’t ours?” Evan asked.
Lauren turned.
He was still looking out the window.
“What?”
“When they brought him back.”
“He is.”
“I know.”
“No. Look at him.”
Evan did.
Lauren’s voice lowered.
“That’s his ear.”
Evan swallowed.
“Babies have ears.”
“That one folds at the top.”
“So does mine.”
“Exactly.”
A weak smile appeared.
Then disappeared.
He rubbed his mouth.
“I kept thinking I’d know.”
Lauren understood.
Some primitive promise parents made to themselves.
I would know my child.
Across a crowded room.
In darkness.
Among a hundred others.
She looked at Noah sleeping beneath the blanket.
She had known him for less than nine hours.
The honesty of that hurt.
“What if I wouldn’t?” Evan asked.
Lauren took a long breath.
“Then we test.”
“What?”
“DNA. Records. Whatever they need.”
“You really want to?”
“Yes.”
He nodded after a moment.
“So do I.”
There was relief in saying it.
Not romantic certainty.
Proof.
Lauren realized she wanted proof.
She did not consider that a failure of motherhood.
At 10:02, a pediatric phlebotomist took a sample from Noah while Lauren held him.
He screamed.
Lauren cried then.
Not when the bracelet appeared.
Not when Dana confessed.
Not when she learned the cameras had gone dark.
She cried because her newborn son disliked a needle.
The ridiculousness of it embarrassed her.
Evan kissed the side of her head.
“No speeches,” she warned him.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You were thinking of one.”
“I was thinking the guy who invented baby blood tests is an asshole.”
“That’s acceptable.”
At 10:20, Detective Patel returned.
They had found Lauren’s phone.
It had been inside a locked staff locker belonging to Celeste Ward.
The phone was powered off.
Lauren stared at Patel.
“How did she get it?”
“We don’t know.”
“Was she in my room?”
“We’re checking access and interviewing staff.”
“My phone doesn’t just walk into her locker.”
May you like
“No.”
“Did she touch Noah?”
