The Baby Thief (11 page)

“Do it quickly, please. I want to get out of here. It feels creepy to be in the apartment with Jenna gone.”

Eric wanted to snoop more, but he pulled out his notebook and copied the list, skipping entries like Tsunami Books and Dr. Lovell (dentist). He did another quick tour of the spacious apartment, hoping to see something obvious he’d missed, like airline tickets or travel brochures. Nothing caught his eye except a large collection of plants in a front bay window. “Will you water the plants if she doesn’t show up?”

“Sure.”

They stepped out of the apartment and Dottie locked the door as the wind blew rain under the covered upper balcony. Eric zipped his jacket and hurried down the stairs behind the manager. He wanted to get downtown and file a missing person report. It was possible Jenna had gone AWOL, but he didn’t think so. The fear in his gut was real now, a physical presence that didn’t go away when he tried to think about something else.

He and Dottie exchanged phone numbers and promised to call each other if they heard anything. Just as Eric stepped out of the office, the sky opened up, and the light rain exploded in a downpour, the first of the season. He ran for his Firebird, the only car in the lot that hadn’t been made in the last decade. The engine fired right up as it always did. He wondered how Jenna felt about his car. She hadn’t said anything when she rode in it. He wondered what kind of car she drove, if she even had one. He wanted to know everything about her. Starting, of course, with where in the hell she was.

Jackson was on the phone when Eric entered the Violent Crimes Division, so Eric wandered over to Rob Schakowski’s desk and read over his shoulder as the detective keyed in an assault report with thick fingers. His crewcut and barrel chest made him seem out of place in front of a computer.

“Hey, I thought you weren’t into this crime stuff anymore,” Schak said without looking up. It was after three, and Eric knew from experience that the detective was pushing to get this paper work done before the four-to-midnight crew came on duty.

“It seems to be following me around.” Eric noticed that the people in Schak’s report all had the same last name. “Domestic violence or family squabble?”

“Both.” Schakowski grunted, then said, “The guy was beating on his wife, and his brother tried to stop him. So the guys get into it, and it’s still a fistfight at this point. Then the wife attacks the brother with a knife and puts him in the hospital. Now the kids are at grandma’s, and she’s an alcoholic”

“Sorry I asked.”

Eric walked over and slouched in a chair next to Jackson’s desk. In a moment, Jackson hung up the phone and looked over at Eric. “Tell me you found the woman and everything is okay now.”

“No.” Eric sat up. “I went to her apartment, and she hasn’t been there. It doesn’t look like she packed anything to take with her either.”

Jackson let out a big sigh. “Women always do this to you, my friend. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Remember Amber? She got so in touch with herself after knowing you, she ran off to Reno to be a black jack dealer. And Suzan? She moved to Alaska.”

“Her mother was sick!”

“What about Kori?”

“What about her?”

“Never mind.” Jackson rubbed his forehead. “Tell me about the apartment.” He looked up suddenly. “By the way, how did you get into the apartment?”

“The manager.”

“Some ridiculous story about being a long, lost brother?”

“I didn’t have to lie. The truth of this situation is enough to alarm a normal person.”

Jackson shrugged. “Tell me all of it.”

Eric summed it up. “Jenna hasn’t been to work, and I don’t think they’ve heard from her. She isn’t at her mother’s, and that’s the only family she has. She hasn’t been in her apartment and didn’t take anything with her. All that stuff women usually drag around with them is still there—make-up, lotion, hair stuff, all of it. Her luggage is still in the closet, and her drawers are full of clothes.”

Jackson said, “She could be staying with a friend, another woman who has all that stuff.”

“Maybe.” Eric felt deflated. “Call the restaurant. Tell them you need to question her again. I’ll bet they have no idea where she is.”

“What’s the number?”

Eric rattled it off. He’d called there a few times recently. Jackson asked for the manager, then held his hand over the mouthpiece. “Go get us some coffee. Bobbie always brews some of the good stuff about this time of day.”

Eric knew the front desk clerk well. He’d spent a lot of time on the phone with her over the years. She always brought her own fresh-ground coffee to work and charged fifty cents a cup for it.

“Hey, Eric, good to see you.” Bobbie filled two ceramic mugs with coffee.

“Thanks, Bobbie. You remembered how much I hate Styrofoam.”

“It hasn’t been that long. Besides, you’re the only one who brings my mugs back.” Her phone rang, so he headed back to the Violent Crimes area.

Jackson was keying information into his computer. “You’re right. They haven’t seen or heard from her.”

“What now?”

“You should fill out a missing persons report, but don’t get your hopes up. We’re understaffed and underfunded as usual.” Jackson looked up. “People do a lot of strange things after they’ve been victimized. It’s called post traumatic shock syndrome. Why don’t you ask around some more, talk to her friends? I’ll bet she’s hiding somewhere, licking her wounds.”

“What if I’m right? She could be dead before you decide to do anything.” Eric was almost shouting now.

Jackson looked a little hurt. “We’ll do what we can. Think about it. Why would anyone kidnap her? Is her mother rich? Has there been a ransom demand?”

“People get kidnapped for other reasons than money.”

Neither of them wanted to speak about such horrors out loud.

Finally, Jackson said, “File a missing persons report. I’ll ask for the case.”

The phone rang, and the detective picked it up. He listened for a moment, then responded in an excited voice. “What’s the address again?” Jackson scribbled something, then slammed down the phone. “Let’s go, Schak! I’ve got a lead on the clown and the cowboy.”

Schakowski jumped up and grabbed his jacket all in one motion. The two detectives bolted from the room. Eric decided to follow in his car. The clown and the cowboy had robbed Jenna. Maybe they had kidnapped her too.

Chapter 10

Monday, Oct. 30, 8:45 a.m.

Reverend Carmichael kept his morning service short. He had more important things on his mind today than leading his congregation. He figured by setting a good example and providing an ideal environment, he made it possible for them to live a spiritual life without heavy-handed guidance. For the next week or so they would be in God’s hands while he kept a close watch on Jenna. As anxious as he was to get down to the clinic, Carmichael felt compelled to stick to his morning routine so he wouldn’t arouse any curiosity.

Usually he was up at six, followed by an hour of Bible reading and prayer. Then breakfast at seven in the dining hall crowded with rough wooden picnic tables, amidst the women and children who gathered around to ask questions, present him with homemade gifts, or simply enjoy his company for the few minutes that they could. Morning service was held at eight in the chapel. Attendance was not required, but few ever missed it. He had noticed Rebecca’s absence for the second day in a row and decided to make time to see her. Perhaps her pregnancy was giving her morning difficulties. Some women seemed to suffer horribly while carrying out the Lord’s work, and others never had a sick day. It was the one aspect of pregnancy he had never been able to diagnose or properly control.

Morning chores were next. A rotation chart was posted in the main hallway and, even though his name was not on it, Carmichael always did his share. Today he went with Faith and the crew into the fields to pick the last of the second potato crop. Anyone who wanted to eat had to help gather and prepare food. It was the way he was raised. There were no exceptions. Even his father, who never did a single other household chore, would slice vegetables or grate cheese if his mother couldn’t locate one of the girls to help. His father, after the first or second martini, was amenable to most things. After three or four, he became unpredictable, sometimes giddy and rambunctious to the point of embarrassment, and other times short-tempered and abusive. When they were teenagers, he’d encouraged his children to drink with him. And they had. Three out of six of his kids had become alcoholics before they were old enough to drink legally.

Carmichael pushed his father out of his mind, not wanting to be distracted by old emotions. He had stopped abusing his body with drugs and alcohol long ago when he renewed his faith in God, but by then his life had been shattered, and it was no one’s fault but his own. He would not let himself think of the accident, not even to ask forgiveness, not today.

Carmichael put down his potato digger and stood, stretching his hands toward the crisp blue sky. “Praise God for this day!” he shouted.

“Praise God!” the women sang out after him.

“Keep me in your heart. I’ll see you at the noon meal.”

He hurried through the greenhouse and into the kitchen to drop off the fruits of his labor. His lab and the greatest challenge of his medical career awaited him.

* * *

Jenna tried to swallow, but her tongue felt as hot and dry as August. Imagining a tall cold glass of water brought tears to her eyes. She eased her shoulders forward and glanced at the room again. Her head felt heavy and wobbly, as if a big rock were rolling around in her skull. She wanted to drift back into never-never land, but she was awake now, or at least she thought she was awake. The previous few days seemed like a bad dream that had gone from disturbing to nightmarish.

The tiny room was lined with smooth, gray tiles. The walls, floor, and ceiling were all the same, the blankness broken only by a single door and a strange dark window that she was sure did not lead outside. The bed seemed like standard hospital issue, the monitors and assorted equipment, vaguely familiar. If not for the lack of a television, it could have been a room in a hospital. Except it wasn’t.

The silence frightened her almost as much as the wide leather straps pinning down her arms and legs. Occasionally Jenna would hear a small thump or scrape above her, but there seemed to be no life outside the walls. She almost wished her captors would come back, do whatever they planned, and get it over with. The waiting and not knowing was an agony unlike anything she had ever experienced.

What do they want? Why me? The questions echoed in her mind over and over. None of it made sense. How had she ended up here? She had a fleeting image of a dark-haired man in a suit, but the image blurred and slipped away before she could focus on it. Was the man in the suit a doctor? Why did she think that?

Jenna had trouble thinking clearly. She assumed the IV line in her right arm, which she could hardly bear to look at, had to be pumping her with a drug that dulled her senses as well as the pain along her left side that came and went. What had they done to her? A thin gray blanket covered her body, so she couldn’t see her injuries. Her shoulder hurt the worst, as if it were broken, but all she could see when she twisted her head to the side was the white of bandages. Had they dropped her or beat her when she was unconscious? Blurry images of a wet ditch floated in and out. Had she been in a car wreck? It seemed as if a doctor had come to help. Had it all been a dream? What if she’d been raped? Jenna didn’t feel violated, but she didn’t trust her perceptions.

The last thing she remembered clearly was running with Eric. They’d made a date, then something had happened to her. Eric must have thought she stood him up. Jenna fought back tears. He was the sweetest guy she’d ever met, and he probably thought she was a complete nutcase. But what did it matter now? She was drugged, injured, and restrained, and couldn’t remember how any of it happened. Despair washed over her. How in the hell would she ever get out?

Except for her IV stand, the monitors, and a small wooden stool, the room was barren. Even if she did manage to get free of the straps, Jenna expected to find the door locked. That strange dark window was probably Plexiglas or something unbreakable. She could almost picture faces behind it, old men with cold hard eyes, watching, waiting. Jenna shivered. She could feel their eyes on her skin. She was a bug under a microscope, and she would die in this room.

Silent tears rolled down her temples and pooled in the pockets of her ears. She was helpless to wipe them away or stop the flow. Would anyone even miss her? Her mother, of course, would worry for a while, then get back to her own busy life. Katrice would try to contact her through the psychic world, then get sidetracked and forget her. Otherwise, Jenna figured her disappearance would go largely unnoticed. Would anyone even report her missing? She’d acted so strangely after the robbery, talking about quitting her job and moving, people might think she’d just taken off.

Jenna groaned out loud. In July she’d left on vacation without telling anyone where she was going or when she’d be back. Except for Dottie. Jenna had asked her to water the petunias and geraniums on her patio. Would Dottie notice the dying flowers this time? Probably not. It was late October, and her perennials had only a few good weeks left anyway.

Why, why, why? The words bounced around in her brain like an echo. Jenna thought it would be easier to accept her fate if she understood it. Then again, knowing might be more than she could bear. What if they planned to keep her for a long time? Treat her like a rat in a lab experiment, infecting her with a little of this and a little of that? Jenna shuddered. She’d rather die than be degraded or tortured. She’d find a way to kill herself before she let them use her.

Then it hit her, what they wanted and why: organs. They wanted her kidneys or lungs or, God no, maybe even her heart would be cut out and given to someone else. Her body would be violated and left to die so that some rich stranger could live. Was it the bald, skinny guy with the beat up face who needed the new heart? Who was he anyway?