Читать книгу Familiar Lullaby - Caroline Burnes - Страница 13

Lily Markey forced her shoulders up and back and walked away from the Johnson house with her head high and her stride purposeful. It took all of her inner strength to do so.

Of all the luck! Mel Haskin! What trick of fate had put a homicide detective on a baby case? And damn it all, he acted as if he was taking the abandonment personally!

She got in her car and slammed the door, locking it against a March wind that had grown a lot colder since three hours ago, when she’d made her first visit of the evening to the Johnson home.

She closed her eyes and leaned back against the headrest, trying to ease the tension in her neck. She’d dropped off the baby just as she’d promised. And David had been found. He was safe. Inside that big house with people who wanted him. People who would give him a future and every advantage. He would never be in danger of being hit or used as a pawn in an ugly domestic power game.

Her hands gripped the steering wheel, and she waited for the anxiety to pass. When she felt steadier, she started the car and drove away.

She’d done the best thing. She’d done the only thing. She’d done what was right for David, and for his mother. But it wasn’t over yet. Not by a long shot.

David was safe. Now she had to make certain that the frightened young woman who’d entrusted her newborn to Lily had a shot at a decent life, too.

MEL SAW THE LOOK of happiness on Preston Johnson’s face and knew that the judge had ruled in favor of leaving the baby in the Johnson home.

“He made it clear it wasn’t permanent,” Preston said. “But each hour we keep this baby strengthens our case, don’t you think?”

Mel kept his opinion to himself. The legal system didn’t always seem to work in a rational or kindhearted, way. Based on what he’d seen of the Johnsons, he’d vote to leave baby David here until college age. But he wasn’t in charge. He was just a cog in the big system.

“Judge Patterson told us we had to appear Monday morning,” Preston said. “We’ll be there.”

“Yes.” Rose Johnson stood. “Thank you, detective. And if you do find the mother, maybe you could…”

He knew what she wanted. Maybe he could put in a word and say what a good home the baby would have. “I’ll do what I can,” he said. “I’ll be in touch.”

He checked the room once more. The Johnsons and their friends, the Currys, were involved with the baby. Even the strange cats, the black and the calico, were acting as if a little prince had dropped from the sky. Maybe there were still homes where people loved children and pets.

He hurried back out into the night. He had work to do at his office. And he also wanted to make a few calls. In his years on the streets he’d developed a few contacts, but what good would they do him in this case? Someone had delivered this baby, but he was willing to bet it wasn’t a teenager who’d gone through the labor process alone. The baby had been cleaned, the navel properly attended. And there was the expensive blanket and basket. No, this baby came from money.

And now his interest was piqued.

LILY SAT in the chair beside the bed. She put a hand on Susie Bishop’s forehead and was relieved to discover she was cool to the touch. No fever. That was good. Of course, nothing could ease the pain in Susie’s expression as she opened her eyes.

“They wanted my baby?” Her voice broke on the words and Lily found her own eyes misting with tears. Some tough reporter she was. If any of the guys in the newsroom saw her, she’d be laughed out of the building.

“They fell in love with him. Of course, they’ll have to get legal custody.” She let it drop there. She’d miscalculated twice already—once in delivering the baby during a party and next in assuming that the Johnsons wouldn’t report the baby. She’d simply assumed they’d enfold the child into the bosom of their family. In that she’d been wrong.

“Is something the matter?” Susie asked.

Lily instantly smiled. “Of course not. Everything’s just like I said it would be. Now you have to concentrate on getting up and moving. We have to get you out of the city, Susie.”

The woman turned her face away. “And go where? He’ll find me. He said it didn’t matter where I went, he’d always find me. And he’d make me pay.”

Lily felt the bracing power of anger. “He can say anything he wants, but he isn’t omnipotent. He doesn’t control Washington. I’ll get you out of this town. There’s a big world out there, Susie. And there’re lots of nice people, too. Like you.”

“He has his finger in every pie in town. Half the police force seems to be on his private payroll.”

Lily felt dread course through her body. Mel Haskin. The word on the street was that Mel couldn’t be bought. But the old saying was that every man had his price. If Mel ever got a hint of who baby David really was, disaster would surely follow.

“Look, Susie. Don’t worry about that now. Rest. I’ve got to go to the newspaper and finish a story. I’ll come back with some food and then you’re going to get up and walk. Remember. That’s what the midwife said. Walk, walk, walk. But wait for me, okay?”

“Why are you doing this? If Wayman finds out you helped me, he can make your life a living hell.” Her voice broke. “If there’s any life left in you. He’ll kill you, Lily.”

“He won’t find out.” Lily wiped the tear away from Susie’s cheek. She was so weak, so beaten down. The trace of a bruise still lay under the skin of her cheek. What had it been, a week ago that Wayman Bishop had thrown his nine-months-pregnant wife into a wall because his coffee got cold before he drank it?

“He’s so mean.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“I can be mean, too. If I have to.” She smiled and patted Susie’s head. “I know judo, karate, and I won the kick-boxing championship. Lemme at ’im.”

Her bravado was rewarded with a weak smile from Susie. “I wish I was half as brave as you are.”

“You are, Susie. You saved your baby. That took incredible courage. You gave that little boy a chance for a life of love, even though it meant you had to lose him.”

“Wayman would have ruined him. He would have beaten him, or he would have turned him into a mean bully. Either way, I couldn’t stand it.”

“Hush now. Just rest. I’ll be back in no more than two hours.”

THE HOUSE is settling down for a much-deserved nap. Even Clotilde is yawning, but I can see that she has something on her mind. There’s one thing about cats—once they focus in on something, there’s no stopping them. I’ve seen foolish humanoids attempt to train a cat to stay off a counter. Newspaper, water pistols—hah! Tools of an incompetent! There is nothing that can dissuade a cat. The only thing to do is to remove whatever object has drawn the cat’s interest. Voila—problem solved.

Unless, of course, the cat just happens to enjoy toying a bit with the bipeds in the house. That’s been known to happen more than once. And then there are those cats who worry about their humanoids. Like Clotilde. I can tell by her twitching tail that she’s in a twist.

“What is it, Clotilde, my love?

“You’re worried about your humans? You think they’ll fall in love with baby David and then he’ll be taken away from them?

“You want me to do what?”

Geez, I’ve just come off a case, and now she wants me to track down the humanoid who gave birth to baby David. That isn’t going to be an easy thing to do. Women who dump babies generally don’t want to be found. And already Detective Dick Tracy is on the case. Boy, did he have an attitude or what? I could see it from a mile off. Every time he looked at that baby he got righteous.

Yet he seemed to have a real tender spot. Maybe he just didn’t want to work an abandoned baby case. Probably a step down for a homicide detective. Me, on the other hand, I like it when all the players in the game are still alive.

But who says the mother is alive? Holy moly, what if she was murdered and the baby taken and then dumped? I can see that Clotilde is reading my expression and not liking a single thing she sees. Humanoids think that I’m inscrutable, but Clotilde can read me like a book. So I’d better change the content of my thoughts.

“Nothing, love. I was just thinking about how to find David’s mama. The blanket and basket are good clues. Dick Tracy noticed them also. And he took them with him when he left. If I wait around, he’ll do the legwork for me….

“What, precious? You want me to start tonight—before the police find her? And you’re going to help me?!”

Aye caramba—why do I suddenly feel like Ricky Ricardo when Lucy decided to help him with his career? But the best thing to do is smile and play along.

“That would be great. We could work together. Familiar and Clotilde. Yes, that does have a nice ring to it.”

Brother, I’m in way deep now. I guess we’re going out to search the backyard for additional clues.

MEL CLOSED the files on his desk with a sigh. Within the time frame he’d established, he couldn’t find a single record of a baby of David’s size and gender born in any of Washington’s hospitals that wasn’t accounted for.

So that meant a midwife or some other type of health-services delivery. Private clinic. He’d heard of places where wealthy women went to have their children; places with all the frills of a health spa plus the benefit of top physicians. Lots of celebrities opted for these exclusive, and very private, facilities.

Or there was the possibility of the extreme opposite—cheap hotel room and midwife. Somehow, though, that just didn’t fit with baby David.

This case was going to take a lot of legwork. And, suddenly, he didn’t want to pursue it. Hell, the baby had a good home. He was safe and wanted. If the system acted in a logical way, David would soon legally be David Johnson, only child of loving parents.

Maybe he should drop it.

Sitting in the busy police station, Mel looked down at his scarred desk. When he’d been three or four, he’d eaten at a table that was nicked and scarred. Him and six dozen other boys. They’d eaten three meals a day there, even when money was short and the food served was oatmeal—morning, noon and night.

It wasn’t the food that Mel remembered with a clenched stomach. It was the long nights of being afraid, of wondering if his mother would come for him. She’d promised him that she’d come back for him. Soon. But weeks had passed. Then months. Then years. And she never came back.

He’d never seen her again. She was just a memory—a tall, slender woman walking down the hallway, her legs moving as fast as they possibly could as she hurried away from him. As she got near the end of the hallway, she’d begun to run—right into her new life. Leaving him behind. An orphan. A child that no one wanted.

No, he couldn’t drop it. Not on his life.

“Hey, Mel. What’s going on?” Sonny Caruso dropped his coat on the chair by the desk next to Mel.

“Not much.”

“You looked like you were planning a bombing, or at least a hijacking. Very big thundercloud on your forehead, buddy.”

Mel forced a smile. Sonny Caruso was a handsome, dark-haired detective who had more natural intuition that most women. And the one thing Mel didn’t want was Sonny poking into his past.

“Got an abandoned baby. What are you working on?” Mel leaned back in his chair, forcing his body language to be casual.

“You’ll love this. We had a woman killed downtown. Beaten to death. Probably a working girl, but she was dressed a little odd. Sort of business suit, so we couldn’t be certain. I put in a call on the radio, notified forensics, etcetera, and guess who shows up?”

“Who?”

“The number-one advisor to the mayor, Wayman Bishop. He was all over the scene like white on rice.”

“Doing what?” Mel was intrigued. Wayman Bishop, who advised Mayor Al Torrell on all things of importance in the city of Washington, D.C., was less concerned about crime in the city than he was about litter. The death of a victim normally wouldn’t ruffle a hair on his head—unless it might have political repercussions.

“Nosing around, hunting for facts about ‘the heinous crime.”’

“I hate to be cynical, but it sounds like Mayor Torrell is getting ready to gear up some kind of antiviolence campaign. He’s building his base for the next election. It’s easy to be against crime. What’s hard is doing something to prevent it.”

“Exactly what I thought,” Sonny said. He looked into the coffee cup sitting on his desk, made a face and threw the whole thing into the trash. “My wife told me to buy disposable cups. She said I’d never wash mine out. She was right.”

“How is Louann?” Mel liked Sonny’s wife. She was a cartoonist, still waiting for a break with a syndicated strip or some steady income.

“She’s fine. Working all the time. She’ll get a break eventually.”

Mel nodded, but his mind was back on the dead woman and the mayor’s advisor. “So what did Bishop do, have the mayor’s picture taken with the dead woman?”

Sonny laughed. “You have a macabre sense of humor, buddy. No, he just lurked around, taking notes. He finally got a look at the woman and then he split like he’d been shot at.”

“Any suspects on the murder?”

“Usual ones. Spouse, boyfriend, neighbor, pimp, unhappy customer. You know, fill in the blank.” Sonny shook his head. “This job makes it difficult to love my fellow man.”

“I know what you mean,” Mel said. “Somebody dropped off a baby at a social event.”

“No kidding.” Sonny’s dark eyebrows lifted almost to his hairline. “Posh party?”

“Preston Johnson’s.”

“Very posh,” Sonny said. “Plenty of money to give a kid a good home. But they won’t keep an abandoned baby.”

“They will, if they can. That’s the good news,” Mel said. “I’m just wondering how the natural mother might have known that the Johnsons wanted a child. See, the more I look into this, the more I get that gut feeling that the Johnsons were carefully selected. Whoever put little David in the basket and left him on that doorstep knew exactly what she was doing.”

“The plot thickens, eh?” Sonny said.

“Yeah,” Mel agreed. “The plot thickens, and I want it up to a real good boil when I find the woman who dumped her kid.”

He saw the curious look return to Sonny’s eyes and realized his tone had been a lot harsher than he intended. He stood up, picked up his coat and headed toward the door. “I’m going to run some leads. Good luck with your homicide.”

“You bet.” Sonny waved goodbye as he reached for the computer mouse and began his own work.

Mel was at a loss for the moment. It would take days to find all the private clinics around Washington, and then collect warrants to search their records. He doubted his superiors would put that much time, manpower and effort into finding a woman who’d thrown her baby away. No, Mel was going to have to work this case mostly on his own.

And to do so effectively, he would have to play his hunches.

He got in his car and drove over to the brightly lit building that housed one of the nation’s most powerful newspapers. When he found a comfortable spot to watch the employee parking lot, he settled down and waited for Lily Markey to appear.

LILY GATHERED UP her things from her desk at the Post and was almost away from her desk when she heard her boss clear his throat behind her.

“When can I expect that story on white-collar spousal abuse?” he asked.

“I’m working on it.” Lily tucked her notebook in her purse.

“What’s the holdup?” Bill Smith asked.

“I’m…waiting for an interview to gel.” Lily finally met his gaze. More than anything she wanted to tell her boss the truth, but it was too dangerous. She’d crossed the line from journalist to activist, and Susie Bishop’s safety hung in the balance. If she ran the story on spousal abuse now, it would be a red flag to Wayman Bishop.

“Is there something you need to tell me?” Bill asked. He was a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair and above-average intelligence.

“Not right now.” She dropped her gaze. “I’ll get the story. You know I always do.”

“You’re reputation isn’t in question, Lily. I’m just wondering why you’re acting like a cat on a hot tin roof.” His look was astute and calculating.

“Gotta go, Bill.” She flashed him a smile, albeit a forced one. “I have an interview and it may be the icing on the cake.” She thought of something truthful she could add. “I told you when I thought of doing this story that it might be Pulitzer material. I still think that. But I need time to be sure that I get everything just right.”

“You’ve got the time, Lily. Just don’t step off in water over your head. You’re up to something. I’m just not sure what it is.”

She didn’t bother to answer. Prevarication wasn’t her favorite form of communication, especially with a man she respected as much as Bill Smith. She headed out the door of the newsroom and straight to the grocery store where she picked up some items she hoped would make Susie Bishop a little more comfortable. She didn’t notice the gray sedan that fell in behind her as she drove toward one of Washington’s worst districts.