together with panache.”
“Thank you, Daddy. I’m sorry I grumped at you.”
“S’right. I only found out about the baby because I went into work early today. The police grapevine was in full force because
babies in Dumpsters are always big news. How’s she doing?”
“As of one last night, very well. Now all we have to do is find the mother.”
“We?” Lieutenant Decker’s eyes twinkled. “You don’t trust the gold shields?”
“Last night, I talked to the detective in charge—Greg Van Horn. You know him, right?”
“Greg’s a good guy.”
“A bit past his prime,” I said. “His words, not mine.”
“He must be close to retirement.”
“I think he dreams of golf clubs. Anyway, he said he didn’t mind if I did a little door-to-door searching on my off-hours.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t mind at all. But even if you find out something, he’ll take the credit. What are you getting out of it?”
“Goodwill from a seasoned detective who admires you, and satisfaction of a job well done. Also I care about the baby. I’m
the reverse mallard duck. I’ve imprinted on the kid.”
Dad gave me the courtesy of a laugh.
“I really hope we find the mother soon. She’s probably not in a wonderful state herself.”
“You mean medically?”
“Medically, emotionally. Any ideas, Decker?”
I always called him Decker when we spoke the trade. Still, he smiled at the address.
“First tell me what you know.”
“We think it’s someone local without a car because we found a pool of blood where we think she gave birth.”
“How much blood?”
“I didn’t quantify it, but Greg didn’t think it was enough to be a homicide, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Decker shrugged.
“I agree with him, Loo. I mean, why kill the mother but not the baby?”
“Sadistic killer? A botched abortion? A bleed-out like Rina had with Hannah? She almost died on the operating table. A girl
in an alley wouldn’t stand a chance. It all depends on how much blood you found.”
“It didn’t look like
that
much blood. Like a little puddle.”
“Splatter marks around the puddle?”
“No … just an amoebic blob.”
“Drip marks to the Dumpster?”
Eureka. I had an answer for that one. “Yes, I noticed them. I showed them to Detective Van Horn.”
“Good job.”
I bit my lower lip, holding back a smile. “Still have a ways to go, but I’m trying to keep up with the experts.”
“Good Lord, I hope you don’t mean me,” Decker retorted. “Saving a baby’s life is quite an impressive feat. I’m just throwing
out a few observations because you like when I do that.”
“You’re right. I do like it. Your questions hone my brain, when they’re not driving me crazy.”
“Too bad. I’m a complete package. You can’t pick and choose.”
I chuckled. A twenty-something waitress came to our table. Judging from the shadows under her washed-out eyes, she, like me,
didn’t get much sleep. Neither Dad nor I was particularly hungry. The Loo ordered a half cantaloupe and asked for a refill
of his coffee. I settled on coffee, a large orange juice, and rye toast
with butter and jam,
if you please. I may like the underfed look, but dieting was for chumps.
Decker said, “I bet you could tell if the blood was from a birthing mother. Because the puddle might contain some of the baby’s
blood as well. The hospital lab could help you out with that one. Now tell me your line of reasoning … why you think it was
someone local.”
Anticipating this discussion, I had organized my thinking. “Why would someone choose to have a baby in that
particular
back alley? So this tells me a couple of things. One, she was scared and wanted to get rid of the kid ASAP without anyone
seeing. Second, if she had any kind of resources—like a car—she wouldn’t have delivered in an alley. So maybe the girl is
below driving age, or doesn’t have a car. So she walked to the spot. Meaning I’m looking
“Thank you, Daddy. I’m sorry I grumped at you.”
“S’right. I only found out about the baby because I went into work early today. The police grapevine was in full force because
babies in Dumpsters are always big news. How’s she doing?”
“As of one last night, very well. Now all we have to do is find the mother.”
“We?” Lieutenant Decker’s eyes twinkled. “You don’t trust the gold shields?”
“Last night, I talked to the detective in charge—Greg Van Horn. You know him, right?”
“Greg’s a good guy.”
“A bit past his prime,” I said. “His words, not mine.”
“He must be close to retirement.”
“I think he dreams of golf clubs. Anyway, he said he didn’t mind if I did a little door-to-door searching on my off-hours.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t mind at all. But even if you find out something, he’ll take the credit. What are you getting out of it?”
“Goodwill from a seasoned detective who admires you, and satisfaction of a job well done. Also I care about the baby. I’m
the reverse mallard duck. I’ve imprinted on the kid.”
Dad gave me the courtesy of a laugh.
“I really hope we find the mother soon. She’s probably not in a wonderful state herself.”
“You mean medically?”
“Medically, emotionally. Any ideas, Decker?”
I always called him Decker when we spoke the trade. Still, he smiled at the address.
“First tell me what you know.”
“We think it’s someone local without a car because we found a pool of blood where we think she gave birth.”
“How much blood?”
“I didn’t quantify it, but Greg didn’t think it was enough to be a homicide, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Decker shrugged.
“I agree with him, Loo. I mean, why kill the mother but not the baby?”
“Sadistic killer? A botched abortion? A bleed-out like Rina had with Hannah? She almost died on the operating table. A girl
in an alley wouldn’t stand a chance. It all depends on how much blood you found.”
“It didn’t look like
that
much blood. Like a little puddle.”
“Splatter marks around the puddle?”
“No … just an amoebic blob.”
“Drip marks to the Dumpster?”
Eureka. I had an answer for that one. “Yes, I noticed them. I showed them to Detective Van Horn.”
“Good job.”
I bit my lower lip, holding back a smile. “Still have a ways to go, but I’m trying to keep up with the experts.”
“Good Lord, I hope you don’t mean me,” Decker retorted. “Saving a baby’s life is quite an impressive feat. I’m just throwing
out a few observations because you like when I do that.”
“You’re right. I do like it. Your questions hone my brain, when they’re not driving me crazy.”
“Too bad. I’m a complete package. You can’t pick and choose.”
I chuckled. A twenty-something waitress came to our table. Judging from the shadows under her washed-out eyes, she, like me,
didn’t get much sleep. Neither Dad nor I was particularly hungry. The Loo ordered a half cantaloupe and asked for a refill
of his coffee. I settled on coffee, a large orange juice, and rye toast
with butter and jam,
if you please. I may like the underfed look, but dieting was for chumps.
Decker said, “I bet you could tell if the blood was from a birthing mother. Because the puddle might contain some of the baby’s
blood as well. The hospital lab could help you out with that one. Now tell me your line of reasoning … why you think it was
someone local.”
Anticipating this discussion, I had organized my thinking. “Why would someone choose to have a baby in that
particular
back alley? So this tells me a couple of things. One, she was scared and wanted to get rid of the kid ASAP without anyone
seeing. Second, if she had any kind of resources—like a car—she wouldn’t have delivered in an alley. So maybe the girl is
below driving age, or doesn’t have a car. So she walked to the spot. Meaning I’m looking
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