The Baby Thief (20 page)

He’d talked with enough admitting desk nurses while they operated the system to bluff his way into patient files. A search for Jenna McClure produced nothing. Eric swore softly. He’d assumed the Assisted Reproduction Clinic, as an extension of the hospital, would have overlapping files. Maybe it didn’t. Maybe Jenna hadn’t had her blood test done locally.

Eric searched quickly, trying a dozen different requests until the screen finally lit up with a catalogue of files. He moved the cursor to ‘ARC’ and pressed return. The unit asked for his access code. Damn. He tried Clark, a pediatrician he was friendly with. No access. He tried Gybbs, the chief of staff. No access. Eric went back to the list of files, scrolling until he saw a heading for access codes.

Shaking his head at the lack of security, he hit enter and punched up a complete list of everyone using the system, their department, and their code. Eric memorized several that listed their department as the ARC, then went back to that heading. Once he was in the secondary system, he typed in Jenna’s name and waited.

Voices! Right outside the door. Eric’s heart lurched against his ribcage. Shit! He reached for the off key, then his hand stopped in mid-air as Jenna’s name came up on the monitor. He quickly scanned the screen. Address, phone, insurance information. Nothing significant. Then toward the bottom it read,
blood test for artificial insemination followed by consultation with Dr. Demauer
.

There was more, but Eric didn’t have time. Someone was moving through the doorway. He quickly shut off the machine and put his head down on the desk.

“Hey, are you all right?” Toni Norris, an intern he knew casually, peeked over the top of the monitor.

Eric lifted his head a little. “I just needed to be alone for a minute.” He rubbed his temples, squeezing his eyes closed in what he hoped looked like a painful grimace. Thank God it was someone who knew him. Someone young, female, and nurturing.

“Do you want to talk?” She shifted nervously, apparently not wanting to leave him alone in the office.

“Thanks, Toni, but I should just go home.” Eric pushed back from the desk. “I’m not doing the kids any good today.”

“We all have our bad days.” Toni patted his shoulder and shuffled away.

His heart was racing, more with excitement than fear. Sneaking into confidential files gave him such a rush, and he now knew the name of a doctor Jenna had seen.

Demauer.

Eric stopped in front of the elevator. He’d heard the name—she was a research bigwig—but they’d never met. The lab types had a tendency to stick to themselves. Why had Jenna consulted with a geneticist anyway? Eric’s instinct was to head for the research department and simply ask Demauer. He knew his chances of getting a straight answer were slim because of doctor–patient confidentiality rules. It was still worth a shot. Eric had never been shy about asking questions.

He hopped on the elevator and rode up two floors, then turned left and headed for the south wing. Once he stepped through the double doors into the research part of the building, the hum of human activity was replaced with silence. Eric’s footsteps echoed in the empty hallway as he passed closed offices. He was stopped by a security guard before he got very far. The guard wasn’t someone he’d met before.

“Do you have business here?”

“I’d like to see Dr. Demauer.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

Eric hesitated. If he said no, that would be it. Then again, if he lied… “No, but this will only take a minute.”

“Dr. Demauer isn’t in today. Call and make an appointment.”

“Good idea.” Eric grinned at the man.

The guard, a thin man of fifty, didn’t smile back. Eric turned and walked out. He’d call Demauer and try again later, but it was probably a waste of time. What could a blood test have to do with her disappearance?

Eric left the parking lot, and a Burger King on Franklin waved him down as he passed. He pulled into the drive-in and ordered two whoppers with cheese and a large coke.

“Wait,” Eric yelled into the speaker after the girl told him to pull forward. He had heard Jenna’s voice in his head say,
Are you trying to kill yourself?

“Make that one whopper, no cheese, and a grilled chicken sandwich.”

“Do you still want the Coke?”

“Sure, thanks.”

Eric let out a sigh. Sooner or later everyone had to watch his diet. He’d already put it off as long as possible.

He ate the chicken sandwich first, thinking it would taste better if he was still ravenously hungry. It wasn’t bad. The traffic was thick and, after losing a pickle in his lap, Eric decided to stop at Skinner Butte Park to eat his burger. He took his time, barely missing the cheese.

With his hunger abated, he noticed the fog had lifted and blue sky covered the park. He watched a small group of homeless men shuffle up the path from under the bridge, passing a cigarette between them. Abruptly, he thought of Buster, a drug dealer and small-time pimp, who hung out at a five-booth café on Blair Street.

Eric had met him a year ago when he covered the murder of four homeless men in the Whittaker district. Buster had been paid well for his interviews, and Eric had gone back to him for information a few times. That was three years ago. Even if he found Buster, the odds of him recognizing either of the men in the sketches were slim. Eugene was still a small town in many ways, and ex-cons had a tendency to know each other. Eric started up the Firebird and eased out of the park. What could it hurt to stop by the café on his way home?

Buster wasn’t in his usual booth by the window. Eric bought coffee to go and left. Instead of getting back in his car, he walked around the corner and strolled slowly down Blair Street, looking for Buster. The prostitutes and drug dealers stared back, sizing up the stranger in their neighborhood.

He found him three blocks over at a picnic table in front of the Holistic Bakery. Buster looked better than Eric remembered. Not as skinny or pale, but still dressed in dirty, oversized clothes.

“Hey, Buster,” Eric said softly, sliding onto the bench across from him.

“Hey, man.” Buster smiled slowly. “Where you been?”

“Working at home. How’s life?”

“Good.” Buster shrugged. “And bad. I’m off the meth, which is good. But I’m broke, and it’s the shits.”

“Maybe we can help each other out again.”

“What do you want to know?”

Eric pulled the photocopied drawings out of his pocket and unfolded them in front of Buster. “Do you recognize either of these guys?”

Buster squinted at the pictures. “What are they wanted for?”

“Maybe kidnapping.”

“No shit! That’s heavy.” Buster picked up the picture of the man with the ponytail and studied it closely. “You know, this looks kinda like an older, more kick-back version of a guy who used to buy cocaine from my ex.”

“What’s his name?”

“Don’t know.” Buster shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”

“Would your girlfriend know his name?”

“Ex-girlfriend. Who knows? She’s so fucked up. Well, she might be straight now. She’s doing eighteen months up in Salem.”

“Drug charge?”

“What else?” Buster leaned forward. “What’s all this worth to you?”

Eric pulled out his wallet. “I’ll give you ten bucks if you save me the trouble of looking for your ex-girlfriend’s name.”

Buster shook his head. “Still a tightwad, I see. Make it twenty, and I’ll tell you all three of her names.”

“Deal.”

“Her real name is Ellen Parks, but she goes by either Rose Harper or Camilla Paris.”

“She likes flowers, eh?”

Buster shrugged. “If you say so.”

Eric handed him a twenty and a business card. “Call me if you remember anything else about this guy.”

“I only saw him a few times. He used to stop by in the middle of the night when no one else was around. He always dressed real nice too, like a lawyer or something. But he…” Buster shrugged. “It’s probably not the same guy. If it is, Rosie will remember. She had the hots for him.”

“Thanks.”

Eric headed back to his car, humming softly to himself. Visiting Rosie in the Women’s Correctional Facility would not be pleasant, but he had a feeling it might be worthwhile.

Chapter 20

Friday, Nov. 3, 4:07 a.m.

Sarah pushed against the stirrups, bearing down on the huge lump in her belly. The room was dark and she could hear Reverend Carmichael’s voice coming through a speaker, coaching her, guiding her, yet she was alone. Alone in the birthing room with thick walls and no windows. Where no one could hear her scream. She pushed harder, squeezing her stomach muscles until the baby burst out between her legs. Sarah sat up to peek at the child and froze in terror. Its head was enormous and its mouth full of teeth. Dark hair covered the genitals, obscuring its gender.

Sarah screamed and woke herself up.

She threw back the covers and sat forward, anxious to lose the dream.

“Sarah, what’s wrong?” Delilah’s little voice called out in the darkness.

“Nothing. I’m fine. Just a strange dream. Go back to sleep.”

Sarah waited a few minutes for Delilah to drift back off, then climbed out of bed. Her skin felt hot and tender, as if she’d been in the sun too long. She wanted a cold glass of water in the worst way. She pulled on her robe, grabbed the flashlight she kept by the bed, and scurried across the covered walkway to the main building.

The lights in the kitchen and dining room were on a timer and would not come on in the middle of the night unless someone reset the system. She could have gone to the shower room, which had a nightlight, but it was her habit to head for the kitchen to have milk and crackers when she couldn’t sleep. The thought of food made her nauseous. She stopped and leaned against the wall until the feeling passed.

Still not feeling right, Sarah quickly got her drink and went back to bed. Sleep eluded her. The thought of having a deformed or diseased baby had never occurred to her before. None of the babies born at the compound ever had anything wrong with them. She’d heard some wild birthing stories, but things had always turned out okay. Reverend Carmichael was the best, everyone agreed.

Maybe God sent the nightmare as a way of telling her not to get pregnant. God might be calling her to do his work elsewhere. Sarah let out a deep sigh. Reverend Carmichael seemed so certain. Sarah prayed for another sign. Her heart beat rapidly, and sleep came slowly.

She woke with the sun as usual. Her skin felt warm, her stomach felt queasy, and her heart was full of uncertainty. Sarah dressed quickly without turning on the light. Conserving resources was part of their religion. She pulled on cotton leggings, a t-shirt, thick wool skirt, socks, and a sweater. The chapel was always cold for morning service.

She woke Delilah first, then quickly shook Tamara’s shoulder. Her mother didn’t respond. Sarah would have liked to talk with her about the momentous decision she faced, but Tamara, who was prone to depression, had become more and more withdrawn the past week. Sarah shook her shoulder again.

“Leave me be,” Tamara mumbled.

Sarah turned away. She’d been through this before, and there was nothing anyone could do but wait for it to pass.

After chapel Sarah headed for the kitchen where she was posted for canning duty. Faith, who got up at five every day to bake something wonderful, was already hard at work.

“Aren’t you having breakfast today?” Gray-haired and plump, Faith pretended to be gruff, but always had time to talk and often slipped her an extra goodie of some kind.

“My stomach’s bothering me a little. I think I’ll get started with the canning and see if I feel like having something later.”

“Suit yourself.” Faith shrugged. “Apple muffins are never quite as good as when they’re right out of the oven.”

Sarah could smell the hot fruit and nutmeg permeating the kitchen, but her stomach said no. She washed her hands and got to work cleaning tomatoes for canning.

The morning passed slowly. She couldn’t stop worrying about whether she was ready for a baby, and the nausea came and went, getting worse each time. Sarah thought about going down to the clinic, but she didn’t want to see the Reverend just yet. After finishing up in the kitchen, she headed for the daycare, thinking she would go back to her room and lie down later if she didn’t feel better.

The arrival of the weekly mail, which was picked up every Friday afternoon by Ellie when she went to Blue River for groceries, momentarily distracted Sarah. Ellie delivered the letter from Darcie to the daycare personally. Sarah could hardly contain her excitement, and Marilynn finally excused her. Sarah skipped back to her family’s unit. A letter from Darcie! Finally. She had waited so long.

Stretched out on her cot, Sarah began to read.

Dearest Sarah,

I know I promised I’d write every week and it’s been forever… but things have been a little crazy for me.

This won’t be good news, Sarah, but you have to believe me. I’m pregnant. The freaky thing is, I haven’t had sex in over a year. Try explaining that to a stuffy, middle-aged health worker!! I never slept with Zeke or David, honest. And I never consented to having one of the Reverend’s “special babies.” How could I be pregnant?

He must have put it in me during one of his pelvic exams. You know how obsessed he is with making babies. Sorry to burst your bubble. I know you think he’s the next best thing to God, but I know better, and I’m worried for you. I should have told you sooner, but I didn’t think you’d believe me. Then I remembered your birthday was last week and you’re 16 now. Don’t let him ruin your life, Sarah. Come stay with me. My baby is due any day and I’m scared. I could use a friend right now. My address is 835 W. Monroe, #6, Eugene. I don’t have a phone, so just show up. I’m always here. I’m too huge to go anywhere except to the store and the doctor.

Love, Darcie