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Dotty said, “Oh God, I want my little girl back!” She broke into sobs. “He did it on purpose. He don’t love her, he just did it to spite me, the bastard.”
“We’ll get him,” Benko said. “I’ll find him, Dotty. I always do. Something’ll come up.”
Hollander said, “How’d he snatch her?”
Benko said, “Just never returned with her on visiting day. Some asshole judge demanded the sunnabitch have parental visiting rights. Well, like I said, the other three wouldn’t go with him. But a little two-year-old, what does she know? Friggin’ judge. Letting a sunnabitch like him have visiting rights. Dotty tried to tell her about Doug, but the bitch wouldn’t listen.”
Hollander continued to stare at the photo. He asked, “How recent is this picture?”
Benko said, “Why? You know the sunnabitch?” He smiled at Dotty. “See? I told you something would come up. These guys are sharp. Where you know him from, Detective?”
“I don’t know him under the name Doug Miller,” Hollander said. “But the sucker looks familiar. Let me stew on it.”
“Sure, take your time, take your time!” Benko checked his watch, then began to pace. “I got loads of pictures. I’ll start showing them around here again, since you say he looks familiar. When’s the girl coming?”
“Who?” asked Hollander.
“The girl who’s taking us to the foster home.”
Hollander smiled. “Detective Dunn is five-eleven, one-sixty. She’s female, but she ain’t no girl. She should be along any moment.” Still focused on the picture, Hollander shook his head.
“Keep looking, Detective,” Benko said. “It’ll come to you.”
“What did your ex do for a living, Mrs. Palmer?”
Benko said, “I don’t know what he’s doing now, but he was a roofer when Dotty was married to him, right?”
Dotty nodded yes.
“Well, we’ve got lots of laborers living in this area,” Hollander said. “He’d blend in without a second glance. Ah, the detective cometh.”
Marge gave a wave. They stood as Hollander made all the necessary introductions. Marge held Dotty’s hand and said, “I’m sorry for all the pain you’ve suffered. I really hope we’ve found your little girl. But I’ll tell you again what I told you over the phone, the child we found looks younger than two and a half.”
“Heather’s little. She looks young,” Dotty managed to say. She brushed her hair away from her face.
“I hope she is your Heather,” Marge said. “Has Sergeant Decker arrived yet?”
Hollander said, “He was called in on an emergency code seven. You can buzz him if you need him.”
Marge shook her head no and smiled inwardly. Code seven meant a meal break, but when they used it in front of civilians, it meant getting tied up with something personal. In Pete’s case, he’d probably gone home to catch up on sleep. No matter. Let the guy rest.
Hollander said, “Detective Dunn, take a look at this photo for me.”
Marge studied Douglas Miller.
“He look familiar?” Hollander asked.
“Yeah, let me think, let me think,” Marge said. She examined the picture, then handed it back to Hollander. “I’m blocking. It’ll probably come to me when I’m showering.” Marge turned to Dotty. “Are you ready?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she answered.
It was nearly three in the morning when they reached Sophi Rawlings’s home. Sophi was dressed in a short-sleeved white cotton shift and a lightweight shawl. She was standing outside the door as Marge pulled the unmarked up to the curve. A thin layer of mist lay suspended in the early morning air. As they came out of the car, Dotty’s breathing became audible.
“I’m Detective Dunn, Ms. Rawlings,” Marge said. “I spoke to you on the phone. This is Mrs. Palmer, the possible mother of Baby Sally, and this is Mr. Benko. He accompanied her down from the Bay area.”
“Come on in,” Sophi said. “The girl’s asleep, but I left a night-light on next to the crib.”
“Let’s go,” Marge said.
Dotty grabbed Benko’s shoulder for support.
“Can you walk okay, Dotty?” Marge asked.
Dotty tried to answer yes, but the word wouldn’t come. She nodded instead. Marge took her hand anyway. Flanked by Marge and Benko, Dotty slowly made her way to the nursery, the walk seemingly interminable.
The toddler roomed with three other children. The first was a black girl of four. She was sleeping atop her covers, dressed in Snoopy babydolls. Opposite her were two steel cots. Two girls, four and six, slept in undershirts and under-pants. They both had long, thick hair that covered most of their backs. The crib was in the far end of the room. Benko led Dotty over to it. Building up courage, Dotty finally peered inside. Her eyes immediately watered, her fingertips brushed the curls off of the sleeping toddler’s forehead.
Dotty stared at the baby for a long time. Benko cleared his throat, but Dotty didn’t respond.
After a few minutes of silence, Sophi whispered, “It’s not your daughter, is it Mrs. Palmer?”
Dotty paused, then shook her head no.
“Take your time,” Benko said. “Don’t rush it. Take another look—”
“It’s not her, Charlie,” Dotty said. “Oh, Charlie, she’s missing Heather’s dimples, and Heather had a little mole at the tip of her left ear. And Heather has thinner eyebrows … and longer lashes … and—oh, Charlie, what am I going to do!”
Dotty’s eyelids fluttered, and she pitched forward. Marge caught her by the shoulders, and she and Benko carried her limp body into the living room and placed her on an old plaid sofa.
Sophi said, “I’ll go get some water.”
“And a towel, too, please,” Marge said. She muttered “shit” under her breath. “Where do you go from here?” she said to Benko.
“I’m gonna keep searching.” He poked his finger in Marge’s shoulder. “You keep thinking who that sunnabitch looks like, lady.”
Marge knocked his finger away. “Don’t get in my face, kiddo.”
Benko held his hands up. “Jesus! Sorry.”
Marge sighed. “S’right. It’s been a long night.”
Sophi came back with the water, salts, and a moist towel. She broke open the capsule and held it under Dotty’s nose. Dotty stirred, then opened her eyes.
“You’re fine, baby,” Sophi said. “Just fine.” Gently, she dabbed Dotty’s forehead.
“Hi, Dotty,” Benko said. “You did just great, honey.”
“It wasn’t her,” Dotty moaned.
“I’m sorry, Dotty,” Benko said. “I’m truly sorry. I thought maybe we had a chance … I’m sorry. This is just a little setback. We’ll find the sunnabitch and your Heather.”
“Oh, God,” Dotty wailed.
“Take it easy, honey,” Sophi said. “Drink this.” She raised the cup of water to her lips. Dotty sipped slowly at first, then gulped the water down.
“I’ve got to get out of here,” Dotty whispered.
Benko said, “You gotta rest a minute, Dotty.”
“Please, Charlie,” she begged. “Please get me out of here!”
“Okay, okay,” Benko said. “I just don’t want you to overexert yourself, you know? C’mon, Dot. I’ll help you stand up.”
“Thank you very much, Ms. Rawlings,” Marge said. “I appreciate your help.”
“You tell Detective Decker that I’m taking Baby Sally to the doctor’s tomorrow,” Sophi said. “And I’ll get what he asked for.”
“I’ll do that,” Marge said. “Let me help you, Mrs. Palmer. Lean on me.”
Benko whispered into Marge’s ear, “Please, Detective. Please! Find me that sunnabitch!”
Decker woke up at six, let the dog out, showered, shaved, dressed, then said an abbreviated version of Shacharit—the morning prayers. He’d once recited the entire service and had even wore phylacteries, but lately that seemed like an awful lot of bother for very little spiritual enhancement. So he settled on saying the Shema—the essence of Judaism—and eighteen verses of silent devotion. When he finished, he put down his siddur, then studied himself in the mirror. He patted his flat stomach, flexed his biceps. The body wasn’t the problem, it was the face. Those bags! It made him look like the big four-oh had stepped on his face years before. A pisser, since he just entered his fifth decade of life a year ago.
What would Rina think?
Shit.
Gorgeous Rina. Gorgeous young Rina. Not yet thirty, she could still pass for a high school student if she dressed simply. As Decker stared at his face, he knew he looked old enough to be her father.
“Fuck it,” he said.
He went to the kitchen, slipped four pieces of bread into the toaster, and pulled out a quart of milk. The kitchen window faced his back acreage—flat dirt fields that disappeared into mountainside. The morning summer sun was strong, pouring its thick honey into the crags and rocky crevices. The window was open, the air was dry and dusty. As he drank from the carton, he heard Ginger yapping excitedly. The barking was followed by the steady blows of a hammer, and the noise was coming from his property. From his barn.
“What the hell?” Decker said. He went out the back door and stopped short at the entrance to the barn. Abel was in the middle of the room, kneeling on his prosthesis, ripping up a rotted plank of flooring. At his side were a tool chest and a box of nails.
Ginger barked at the sight of a stranger. Decker quieted the dog and said, “Abel, what are you doing?”
“Your barn and stable are a stack of cards, Doc,” Abel said. “Floorboards warped, the stalls are coming apart at the seams. The beams weren’t fit properly. Y’all put ’em up yourself?”
“As a matter of fact, I did,” Decker said.
“Getting sloppy, Doc.”
“Abel—”
“And your barn wall is Swiss cheese,” Abel said. “Full of bullet holes. Shoot-out time at the O.K. Corral, Pete?”
Decker ignored the remark. “How’d you even get here?”
Abel pointed to a motorcycle leaning against the wall.
“You biked here?”
“No, Doc. I carried it on my shoulders.”
“Don’t be cute,” Decker said. He petted Ginger and walked over to Abel, stood over him. “Let me see your driver’s license.”
Abel looked up. “What?”
“Let me see your driver’s license.”
“You’re shittin’ me.”
“The license?”
Abel hesitated, then reached in his pocket and threw the license on the floor. Decker picked it up, looked at it, and handed it back to him. Abel pocketed the card.
He said, “You know, I once had a good friend, but he turned into a cop.”
“Yeah, well, yesterday, you didn’t call the friend, you called the cop.”
“Well, maybe it was my mistake to call him at all.”
Neither one spoke for a moment. Abel continued tugging up on the floorboard.
“Your ceiling don’t look that hot, either,” he said. “You can see daylight through the rafters.”
“You’re going to roof my barn, Abe?”
“All I have to do is screw my leg into a scaffold jack, and a tornado couldn’t dislodge me.”
“Abe, you don’t have to do this …”
“Yes, I do, Doc. Yes, I do indeed have to do this. It serves a right fine purpose for me.”
“I never expected you to pay me back.”
“Well, you see, Pete,” Abel said, “that’s where you and I differ. I always intended on payin’ you back in one fashion or another. Ain’t got no money on me. But I sure as hell have time.”
“Let me ask you this, Abe,” Decker said. “What if I find proof-positive evidence that you did what you’re accused of doing?”
“What if?”
Decker chewed the corner of his mustache. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and kneaded it. He said, “I’ll nail you, buddy. I swear to God, I’ll nail you.”
“You find any evidence that I hurt that lady, and I’ll give you the hammer. So do your job. It don’t worry me any.”
Ginger jumped onto Decker’s chest again and panted.
