Chapter Four
The line for the elevator included two foul-smelling transients and a trio of streetwalkers with dueling perfumes, so I decided to wait for the next one. Even without my hypersensitive sense of smell I’d have been throwing up the second the doors closed.
I leaned against the wall trying to find my balance. I’d dealt with a lot of strange cases over the years, up to and including child custody, but a kidnapping was way out of my league and experience.
More so when it was one of my own, in a manner of speaking. Bran was my mate and Liam my—what was he? Possible half brother-in-law? Could babies be in-law anything?
My head spun as I worked through the possible titles. It was easier than thinking about how to deal with Bran and find Liam.
“Rebecca.”
I turned at the familiar voice.
Bernadette Hanover stared at me. She wore dark blue slacks with a matching jacket. “What are you doing here?”
I resisted the urge to dig in my messenger bag, returned to me a few minutes ago, for my drug stash to fight the oncoming migraine. The last thing I needed was to give Bran’s mother the impression I was an addict.
“I could ask the same,” I shot back.
Her eyes narrowed. She wasn’t used to being challenged by anyone, much less someone she viewed as far below her social status. “I’m here for a meeting about a new charity. We opened up a month ago and we’re assessing the different programs.” She nodded at a brightly colored poster on the bulletin board advertising yet another foundation aimed at helping ex-convicts to find meaningful employment.
She crossed her arms in front of her, building body armor. “And you?”
I flipped through the various stories I’d used in the past to cover an uncomfortable situation. I didn’t know if she knew Brayton or not but I wasn’t going to get her involved in this if at all possible. Not when there was an illegitimate Hanover baby out there somewhere.
The last thing I needed right now was to get into another pissing match with Bernadette. I’d have plenty of opportunities for that in the future.
“I know one of the detectives.” I waved at Attersley. He waved back, frowning at seeing me still in the police station and talking to someone far out of my social strata. He tilted his head to one side and watched us dance.
Bernadette crossed her arms. “I know you know some cop here. It was in your file.”
I resisted the urge to snap her neck like the scrawny chicken she reminded me of. The last thing I needed was for Hank to overhear the word “file” and wonder what that was all about.
Her lower lip jutted out in a halfhearted pout. “What I want to know is why you are here, now.” She gestured at the animated figures dashing in and out of offices. A missing baby set off all the bells and whistles and Attersley’s people took their job seriously. “I understand your profession involves dealing with the police but I didn’t expect to find you hanging out here.”
I caught the disapproval in her voice mixed with curiosity. She’d likely gotten all of her knowledge about private investigation from bad crime novels and reruns of Magnum PI and I didn’t fit into any of them.
Especially the cute mustache.
“I’m between cases right now.” I figured the less she knew about my arrangement with her husband the better—I’d let him deal with the situation if and when it came up. “There’s an AMBER Alert out for a missing child. I wanted to get a full description so I could pass the information on to my street sources. Any port in a storm and so forth.” It was a half lie, one I could be comfortable with.
“Oh my.” She glanced at the scrambling officers. “A missing child. That’s awful.” Bernadette turned her attention back to me. “Is it a random snatching or parental custody issue?”
I looked at her, startled by the logical question. Maybe there was more to this woman than seen at first glance. “Ah, we’re not sure yet. At the least, a kidnapping.”
“It wasn’t a carjacking, was it?” She let out a plaintive sigh. “I work with one group who keeps reminding the public to not leave babies in the car, even for a few minutes while they rush into a store.”
“No, no car here.” I wasn’t sure what to say or not to say, not knowing what or how much information had been released to the public. I didn’t need Hank roaring down my neck for putting something out that hadn’t been approved by The Powers That Be.
Bernadette shook her head. “Such a pity. I hope they find the little boy or girl. Awful business, especially where babies are involved.”
She turned to go and I felt my heart begin beating again.
Bernadette suddenly stopped and spun on one tall stiletto heel to face me again. “We should have lunch sometime. I’ll call you and we can chat about things away from the men. I’d like to hear about your mother.” Her lips drew together into a tight line before moving again. “I’m sure it was quite traumatic when you lost her.”
Suddenly I was ten years old again and curled up in Ruth’s lap, crying and cursing with words I didn’t even understand yet.
“Yeah. Have your people call my people and we’ll do lunch,” I croaked out.
She gave me a practiced smile. “We’ll have a little girl time together since you’re spending so much time with my son.” The last two words came out almost as a curse, her lips curling around the syllables.
“Sure.” I lifted a hand to give a halfhearted wave but she’d already disappeared down the hallway and into the stairwell, her blond locks bouncing around her shoulders.
A cool breeze wafted through courtesy of a well-placed fan by an open window at the far end of the hallway and I drew in a deep breath, both gathering myself and enjoying the reprieve from the funky station house smell.
The wind also carried another scent, a variation of one I’d recently become familiar with.
I closed my eyes. This was part of the reason I could never become a cop. I couldn’t handle this part of the job.
I opened them to look down the hall, zeroing in on a frail-looking couple being guided along the corridor by a pair of uniformed policemen.
The Callendars.
The older woman was this side of retirement, her gray hair pulled back into a tight bun. A white shawl hung on her narrow shoulders, draped over a black blouse and matching slacks.
Her husband had a handful of follicles left and had chosen to do a comb-over to try to keep some sense of having hair. He wore an oil-stained black T-shirt and jeans. His hands sat on her shoulders—calloused and leathered. Mr. Callendar was a man who worked with his hands and worked hard for a living.
They stopped outside one of the interrogation rooms. The uniforms muttered something and walked away, leaving the grieving parents alone to sit on a wooden bench and wait for the detectives to show up and brief them.
I moved over to the open window and looked out, tuning in to the bereaved couple. It didn’t take much to zone in on the emotional whispers and lock out the grumblings and mutterings from the nearby cops. I felt my ears twitch as my natural radar zeroed in on the grieving parents.
“I can’t believe this,” Mrs. Callendar said between sobs. “Who would do this to her, right after she had the baby? Who?”
Her husband tightened his grip on her shoulders. “That bastard.” His fingers trembled where they rested. “That bastard,” he repeated.
She reached up and touched his hand. “Right now we have to focus on Liam. We need to find Liam.”
“We’ll find the bastard and make him pay,” Mr. Callendar rumbled. The hardness in his words startled me. There was a lot of bite behind this bark. “We’ll find him and the baby and do what’s right.” He shot an angry look at a uniformed cop. “We’ll do right by her.”