Where is the Baby? (7 page)

He'd met Margery Briggs during his Child and Adolescent Psychiatry Residency Training Program. It had been an incredible stroke of luck that he'd run into her on an errand at City Hall and she'd at once asked him to consult on this case. Flattered and intrigued, he'd accepted immediately without thinking it through. He didn't want to screw it up.

Wiping his hands dry on his jeans, he again reached for the doorknob. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door and walked in with a smile, saying, ‘Hi. I'm Stefan.' Reaching for one of the small chairs, he sat down, saying, ‘These are little chairs for little people. You can sit down, too, if you like.'

Her curled hands held tight at her sides, she watched him without the amusement the majority of children displayed when he folded his long, lanky frame into one of these chairs. She was, he could see, very suspicious. Ironically, she probably trusted her captors more than she trusted strangers; at least she had a frame of reference for how those two might behave. Strangers represented completely unknown, potentially dangerous, territory.

‘If you don't care to sit down, that's fine,' he said, smiling again.

Nothing. She just kept on staring at him.

‘Well, okay,' he said. ‘Let's get started.'

‘'Kay.' As if he'd given a key signal, she yanked off the underpants, lay down on her back, flipped the dress up over her face and spread her legs.

‘Oh, no!' he said, dismayed. ‘That's not what I meant at all.'

‘'Kay.' She turned and positioned herself on her hands and knees, reaching back to raise the dress over her exposed bottom.

‘No! Please,' he said. Something inside his chest tore away, like tape ripped off a raw wound. ‘Don't do that.'
This was terrible!!!
Why had he imagined this would be simple or that he was sufficiently schooled for the job?

‘No?' She sat up on her knees, looking at him over her shoulder, then turned and knee-walked toward him.

He thought she'd stop but she kept on coming until she was at his knees, trying to push them apart and reaching for his zipper. That raw place inside his chest was exposed and stinging as he took hold of her hand – so soft and scarcely formed; the dimpled hand of a child scarcely beyond being a toddler.

Sitting back on her knees, she studied his face as he struggled to speak.

Like the storied sin eater who for a small gratuity ate a piece of bread laid on the chest of a dead person, thereby taking the sins of that dead person upon himself, he had in just moments swallowed this little girl's metaphoric sins. He was muted and hamstrung by the process, left fairly grief-stricken. How could he possibly help this child? She'd been so thoroughly brainwashed that she interpreted most behaviors as having a sexual subtext. Aware of the arrogance he'd carried with him into the room and ashamed of it, aware too of the humbling realization that he knew far less of the world than he'd imagined. He understood with sudden, staggering clarity that he was too young and too inexperienced to be of use to this child. Just moments and much of what he'd believed he knew about himself had been invalidated.

That internal rending had been the peeling away of the hubris that had led him to say yes to the dislikeable Margery Briggs. He'd agreed to consult on this case knowing almost nothing of the facts. Top grades and high honors didn't magically endow anyone with wisdom or special insights and just now he was lamentably short on both. He was all at once choked with sadness for the losses suffered by this misleadingly dainty little girl. Only the housing was a child's. What was inside her was much used and mistrustful, perhaps irreparably broken. He felt, immediately and thoroughly, heartsick for her.

‘I'm sorry,' he said, just then feeling scarcely older than the girl as, embarrassingly, tears welled up in his eyes and he released her hand to rummage in his pocket for a tissue.

‘What'sa matter, Mister Stefan?' she asked, appearing fascinated by his distress. Getting to her feet, she put a hand on his arm. ‘You cryin', Mister Stefan? It's okay. I won't get mad. You can cry. I sawed some other grown-ups cryin' when the lady was bringin' me here. Are you sad?' Her small hand patted him consolingly as he wiped his face with the tissue. Her features had softened and lost their suspicious tightness. An old, sympathetic soul gazed out at him through the dark windows of her eyes. And as he gazed back at her, he realized that if he was allowed to work with her it could be the greatest learning experience of his life. Her effort to comfort him derived from an innate sensitivity that had not been blunted by her young life's experiences. She was not beyond hope. He prayed he wasn't, either.

At last, having dried his face, he took hold of her hand again and said, ‘Thank you. You're very kind. I was feeling a little sad.'

‘You're not sad anymore?'

‘No. I feel better now, thanks to you. Shall we see what's in the toy box?'

‘Okay. Toys are like friends,' she said. ‘They don't
do
anythin' or
mean
anythin'. But they make you feel good when you hold them.'

Hearing her paraphrase what he'd told her the night before, Brian emitted a sound that was half laugh and half sob.

‘That's right,' Stefan said in surprise. ‘Did someone tell you that?'

‘Yeah. Mister Brian telled me.'

‘Mister Brian is quite right. There are other toys, too,' Stefan said, getting down on his knees and lifting the lid on the toy box. ‘Some you can use to build things. Others are like games. Would you like to try one of the games, or play with some toys?'

‘Mister Stefan?'

‘Yes?'

‘Please, could I take off the shoes? I don't like them.'

‘If you could put the underpants back on, I see no reason why you shouldn't take off the shoes.'

She gazed at him for a few seconds, then sat down on the floor, reaching for the pants. She managed to get them back on, dragging them over the shoes, then rocking her way back into the underpants.

‘Could you help me now, Mister Stefan? I don't know how to do shoes. I never had them before. I had rain boots in the winter but they didn't have these do-up things.'

He smiled, and said, ‘You bet,' and bent to undo the buckles.

‘C'n I take off the sock things, too?'

‘If you like. Do you need help with those as well?'

‘I can do those. I had some before when there was snow.' She pulled off the socks, then wriggled her toes. ‘I never had shoes like that. They don't feel good.'

‘Then you don't have to wear them,' Stefan declared. ‘Now,' he said, sitting cross-legged in front of her on the carpet, ‘let's try this game.'

‘'Kay. You gonna tell me how it works?'

‘I am going to tell you.'

‘What just happened in there?' Captain Garvey said quietly, gazing through the glass and shaking his head. ‘That was one hell of a thing. I don't know if that young fella's crazy as a loon or some kind of genius.'

‘I think he's way out of his depth and she just threw him a life buoy,' Brian said, deciding Stefan Lazarus was like a kid playing dress-up, not someone he'd trust entirely to look out for Humaby.

‘I
t's time to call in the press,' Garvey told Brian on the way back to headquarters. ‘I've got as many men as I can spare going through missing persons reports but since we don't know how far back to go it's pretty much impossible. The media people are all over us, wanting to see the little girl who saved the baby. The baby's parents want to meet her, thank her, and give her some kind of gift. Thing is, we get her face out on the wire services and TV, maybe someone'll recognize her. I've got a call in for Connie Mason to come back ASAP and do some head shots, get them printed right up and aim to have them on hand for the press conference this afternoon. That way we're in time for the networks and the late editions of the national and local papers.'

‘Sounds like a plan,' Brian said quietly, concentrating on his driving.

‘Meanwhile, DCF wants to place the kid while she waits for her surgery.'

‘When?' Brian was suddenly fully alert.

‘When what?'

‘When do they want to place her?'

‘Soon as possible, I'd imagine. I get the distinct impression you've taken a big interest in this little girl.'

‘Kind of, I guess.' It was hard for Brian to sound non-committal when he was anxious now to get back to the office and put his and Jan's names up for consideration as temporary foster parents.

‘Did you ever in your life see anything like what happened in there?' Garvey asked, firing up a Camel and then rolling down the window. ‘The guy completely fell to pieces and the kid put him back together. Never saw such a thing.'

‘Me, neither,' Brian said. ‘But she's got a pretty powerful effect on people . . . maybe because of the age and size of her. She's about the smartest kid I've ever encountered. You read my report on how she got out of that van?' Brian glanced over.

‘Unbelievable!' Garvey shook his head, then took a hard drag on his cigarette. ‘A plastic knife and fork. Just
unbelievable
.'

‘Did they find any photographs or film in the van?' Brian asked. ‘She seems to know about porn, went into a pose when Connie went to shoot her. I figure those animals took pictures, maybe even used her in a movie or two. What I'm hoping is they didn't sell any of it. It'd be a terrible thing for her, years from now, if that stuff surfaced.'

‘The forensic guys are cataloguing the contents of the van. Seems there's a ton of stuff. It'll take time to sort through it all. Meanwhile, those two ratfucks don't even have the smarts to ask for a lawyer. The DA's gonna charge them with kidnapping, rape, unlawful confinement, and a bunch of other things. If there's a God, the court'll appoint a PD who's got about a week's experience and graduated at the bottom of his class.'

Brian had to laugh. ‘It's what they deserve.'

‘They don't deserve even someone that good,' Garvey said with disgust, and flicked his half-smoked cigarette out the window. ‘With any luck, those two are going away forever. Too bad it's not a death-penalty situation.'

It was a relatively quiet day for Connie. She'd processed the previous day's party film and was drying the prints of the girl – the sight of her filthy, injured little body painful to see – when she got the call to go back and do some shots for the media. Having a legitimate reason to see the child again felt like a gift. Restocking her camera bag, she headed right out to the car. She wanted to get in a bit of shopping before returning to the hospital.

The too-young-looking guard was on duty again. Remembering her, he said, ‘Go on in,' and went back to the paperback he was reading.

The child was sitting cross-legged on the bed, frowning at the TV set. As if possessed of radar, she turned the instant Connie walked into the room and said, ‘Miss Connie! You comed again.'

‘I told you I would. How are you, sweetie?'

‘They gived me shoes 'n' socks but Mister Stefan said I didn't have to wear them, 'cuz I didn't like them.'

‘You shouldn't wear things you don't like,' Connie said, putting her camera bag on the chair before approaching the bed. ‘Your hair looks very nice.'

‘I look like a boy.'

‘No.' Connie smiled at her. ‘You look like a pretty girl.'

‘Is that good?'

‘Very, very good. How do you feel about the dress?'

‘Too many clothes, on top and under, too.' Humaby lifted the sides of the fussy dress as if they were unbearably heavy.

‘I brought you some clothes I think you might like better,' Connie said, setting the shopping bag down on the bed.

‘Mister Brian says when people like a child they bring you toys and stuff.'

‘That's true. But I decided you need clothes more than toys.' Reaching into the bag, Connie laid out her purchases one by one. ‘This is what people call a sweat suit, which is kind of a silly name. But it's made out of something called velour and it's very soft. Touch it and you'll see.'

Tentatively, Humaby put out a finger, as if the offering might be electric and give her a nasty shock.

‘Go ahead and really touch it,' Connie encouraged her.

‘It
is
soft! What color is this?'

‘It's yellow. Do you like it?'

‘Yeah.'

‘And I got you some sneakers. I think you'll like these. They're soft, too. Not the way the sweat suit is, but they'll feel good on your feet.'

‘Thank you, Miss Connie.'

‘Would you like me to help you change into your new clothes?'

‘I can wear them?'

‘Yes, you can.'

‘Okay.' Lowering her voice and glancing at the doorway as if fearful of someone overhearing, she said, ‘I don't like this dress.'

‘I know,' Connie whispered. ‘And if you don't like these new things, I won't mind one bit. We'll just find you something else that you do like. Okay?'

‘Yeah?'

‘Absolutely. We'll keep your socks on so the sneakers don't rub your sore foot when you walk,' Connie told her, getting the ugly shoes and then the starchy, oversized dress off. ‘First we'll put on the bottoms. You can hold my arm while we get these on. Good. Now, the top. There! How does it feel?'

Humaby took her hands over her arms and legs, examining the sensation, then said, ‘I like it, Miss Connie! It feels
nice
.'

‘I'm glad. We'll try the sneakers on later. Okay?'

‘'Kay.'

‘Could I give you a kiss?' Connie asked.

Humaby's brow furrowed. ‘In my mouth?'

‘No, sweetie. On the cheek.'

‘Why?' she asked worriedly.

‘Because I like you and care about you. Giving a kiss is a way to show how you feel about someone.'