Live to Tell

by Lisa Gardner

  Not that big a dope, I unlocked the door leading to the Admin area and dug through the filing cabinet for the two patients in question: Oswald James Harrington and Tika Rain Solis. I pulled the files, showed Detective LeBlanc the photocopier, then called Karen.

  She was half-asleep, but woke up fast enough once she heard the news. “I’ll be right there,” she assured me, which, given where she lived, meant at least an hour.

  “Do we need a lawyer? How does this work?”

  “Don’t answer any questions you don’t want to answer, and advise the rest of the staff to do the same. Showing up at one-thirty in the morning. Assholes.”

  “I think Sergeant Warren considers that a compliment,” I said. As if summoning the Devil, Warren appeared at the end of the hall.

  “We’d like to start with you,” she said: a command, not a request.

  “No shit,” I muttered.

  I hung up the phone. As the most senior person on the floor, I would have to shoulder this load and play nice with the detectives. Lucky me.

  “Fine,” I said.

  “Good,” Warren returned.

  “Just gotta grab a glass of water.”

  “I’ll wait.”

  “Make yourself comfortable.”

  I turned away from the detective and headed for the kitchenette. At the last minute, however, I continued down the hallway to Lucy’s room. I peered in, expecting to see Lucy sleeping in a corner.

  Instead, she was dancing.

  She moved around the room in graceful circles, swooshing from one moonbeam to the next. The oversized surgical scrub shirt ballooned around her as she twirled, leaping across her mattress, then pirouetting in front of the windows.

  She was a cat again, moving in the languid style of a feline. Maybe she was trying to catch moonbeams in her paws. Maybe she simply liked the way it felt to sway to and fro. She hit the windows, placed her hands open-palmed against the glass. Then she stilled, and I knew she saw my reflection.

  Was she angry after our last confrontation? Fearful, defiant?

  Lucy turned away from the glass. Slowly, she meandered and twirled her way toward me. At the last minute, as I felt myself tense, she held out her hand, pale fingers extended. She dangled a tiny ball of string, something she’d fashioned from rolling together loose carpet fibers. A homemade cat toy.

  I hesitated. She jiggled it again.

  I accepted her gift, closing my fist around it as she swooped away, long pale limbs flashing silver in the moonbeams.

  I tucked her peace offering into my pocket and returned to Sergeant Warren.

  I’d just entered the classroom when I realized I had forgotten my water. I returned to the kitchenette to fetch a glass, and Greg found me. Benny and Jimmy still couldn’t settle. I poured out doses of Benadryl for the two kids. Greg took the Benadryl, then I headed back to the classroom, where the look on Sergeant Warren’s face told me I still didn’t have water.

  I returned to the kitchenette again, this time finding a glass and banging on the tap. The other detective, LeBlanc, poked his head out of the Admin area. Copier had run out of paper.

  I reloaded the copier, glancing at the records he’d already duplicated. I offered to carry the copies to the classroom, but he refused. I shrugged, and since he appeared done with Tika’s original file, I took that for myself to use as a reference.

  I made it all the way to the classroom; then, right outside the door, I realized I’d left my water glass sitting next to the copier. Back to Admin I went, grabbing my water, and making it to the classroom with everything in hand.

  Sergeant Warren glanced at her watch as I took a seat. She was flanked on either side by a detective.

  “Always take you fifteen minutes to grab a drink?” she asked me.

  “Oh, sometimes it takes twenty. Tonight I was lucky; I only got interrupted four or five times. Don’t worry, someone will need something shortly.”

  “Crazy night,” the detective on her left commented. I recognized him from the first visit. George Clooney playing the role of a Boston cop.

  “Birthday party,” I said. “Does it every time.”

  “Birthday party?” he asked.

  “Priscilla turned ten. We had a celebration for her after dinner. The kids made cupcakes; we hung streamers, handed out party hats. The kids got very excited, which, for our crowd, has consequences.”

  “Then why have the party?” Sergeant Warren asked, with a frown. I could see this woman running the Gestapo. She’d be good at it.

  “Because most of these kids have never been to a birthday party,” I explained. “They’re either too poor or too emotionally disturbed or too unloved to ever be so lucky. They’re still kids, though, and kids should get to have a party.”

  “Now they’ll be up all night, torturing you and one another?”

  I regarded the cops steadily. “Priscilla has brain damage from being shaken as a baby; it impairs her ability to process numbers. Tonight, however, she counted out ten candles and jammed them all onto one cupcake. Speaking for the staff, we don’t care if the kids spend the rest of the night tearing this place apart. It’s worth it for that moment.”

  Sergeant Warren studied me. I couldn’t tell if my words had affected her or not. Then again, this was a woman who spent her time rolling over dead bodies so she could note their faces. She probably could take me at poker.

  “And Tika Solis? She have a party?”

  “I don’t know.” I started to open the file. Sergeant Warren reached across the table and slapped it shut.

  “No. Off the top of your head. What do you remember about her?”

  “I don’t.”

  “What do you mean you don’t?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “I don’t. Name’s not ringing any bells.”

  “You remembered Ozzie Harrington,” she said crossly.

  “I worked with Ozzie one-on-one over the course of many months. Of course I remember him.”

  “But not Tika?”

  “Can’t even bring her face to mind.”

  The sergeant continued to stare at me, as if I were holding something back. “Girl liked to cut herself. That jog your memory?”

  I shook my head. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

  “Please, a little girl who self-mutilates? That doesn’t stand out in your mind?”

  “We have two of those cases right now, so no, it doesn’t.”

  “Two?”

  I pulled the file out of her grasp. “Children are direct, Sergeant. Sometimes, they can’t verbalize their emotions, but that doesn’t mean they’re not attempting to communicate. A child who hates the world will act hateful. And a child who hurts inside will externalize that pain, cutting her arms, legs, wrists, in order to show you her ache.”

  “Tika was three when she was admitted here. That’s not exactly a teenager brooding over the poems of Sylvia Plath,” the sergeant countered skeptically.

  “Three?” Three was young for slicing and dicing. Not unheard-of, but young. My turn to frown. “When was she admitted?”

  Sergeant stared at me. “Around the same time as Ozzie Harrington.”

  I searched my memory banks, trying to bring a whole cluster of kids into focus. The dynamics of the kids impacted the milieu as much as anything. Who were the kids we’d had with Ozzie? What was the dynamic? We’d been so busy for the past year. More and more kids, each with a case file more horrific than the last … “Wait a second. Tiny little thing? From Mattapan?”

  Sergeant Warren flicked a glance at the redhead sitting on her other side. “They moved to Jamaica Plains from Mattapan,” he murmured. The sergeant nodded at me.

  “Okay, I remember her,” I admitted. “But I didn’t work with her much. I was busy with Ozzie; besides, Tika didn’t care for women. She responded better to the male MCs.”

  “What do you mean, ‘responded’?”

  “Wanted a father figure, most likely.” I shrugged. “Tika didn’t have one at home, so she was
anxious to find one elsewhere. If Greg or Ed asked her to do something, she did it. If Cecille or I spoke to her, it was all la, la, la, la, la, wind blowing through the trees. We’re acute care—not our job to change that, just our job to work with it. So male counselors it was.”

  “You’re saying she worked most closely with the gym coach out there?”

  “Gym coach … Greg? Yes. Here, may I?” I gestured to the file. The sergeant finally let me open it. I skimmed through the reports. Sure enough, most of them were written up by Greg, Ed, and Chester. Male MCs indeed. “Greg and Ed are both here tonight,” I commented. “They might be able to help you.”

  “Did Tika and Ozzie interact?” the sergeant wanted to know.

  “Probably. In the common area, during group, that sort of thing.” There was something obvious I should be understanding. Ozzie and Tika. Tika and Ozzie. Then it came to me. My hands stilled on the file. I stared at the three detectives, horrified.

  “Are you saying … Tika’s dead?” Then, a second later, “Oh my God, Jamaica Plains. The family that was murdered last night in Jamaica Plains. That was Tika’s family? Two kids from here, two families …”

  I didn’t want to compute the implications of such a connection. Then it came to me, the way the detectives were regarding me. Not as a nurse, supplying background on two patients, but as a suspect. The common denominator between two families that met equal tragedy.

  My background. Did they know my background, because if they knew my background …

  I couldn’t breathe. White spots appeared in front of my eyes, and I heard my father’s damn voice again: “Danny girl. Oooooh, Danny girl.”

  Shut up, shut up, shut up.

  A knock on the closed door. I forced myself to turn, stand up, function as a professional. Breathe in. Breathe out. Compartmentalize. Nurses were good at this sort of thing, and psych nurses were the best. I opened the door.

  Greg stood on the other side, looking wild-eyed.

  “Have you seen her?” he blurted out.

  “Seen who?”

  “Lucy. Dammit, we’ve been searching everywhere. Lucy’s vanished.”

  CHAPTER

  TWENTY-TWO

  LUCY

  Hush, little baby, don’t say a word. Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird. And if that mockingbird won’t sing, Mama’s gonna buy you a diamond ring.

  Shadows. Shadows breathe. Shadows move.

  And if that diamond ring turns brass, Mama’s gonna buy you a looking glass. And if that looking glass gets broke, Mama’s gonna buy you a billy goat.

  Shadows. Shadow says, Follow me. I do.

  And if that billy goat won’t pull, Mama’s gonna buy you a cart and bull. And if that cart and bull turn over, Mama’s gonna buy you a dog named Rover.

  Shadows. Floating down the hall, slipping through the door. Follow me, follow me. I do.

  And if that dog named Rover won’t bark, Mama’s gonna buy you a horse and cart. And if that horse and cart fall down, you’ll still be the sweetest little baby in town.

  Shadows. Pulling, tugging, yanking, wanting. I do, I do.

  Hush, little baby, don’t say a word. Hush, hush, hush …

  D.D. watched Danielle with growing suspicion.

  “Did you check the solarium?” the nurse was asking the gym-coach MC. “Behind the palm trees?”

  “First stop we made.”

  “And you’ve done the entire floor? Inside cabinets, behind wardrobes, beneath bathroom sinks?”

  “Yes.”

  “And how long has Lucy been missing?”

  “Twenty minutes.”

  “Twenty minutes? You kept this to yourself for twenty minutes?”

  “Hey, you’re sequestered with a bunch of detectives, and it’s not like we haven’t searched for a kid before. The staff’s been on it. We’ve done this floor, the solarium, and a quick tour through the hospital halls. No dice. It’s time to alert the medical center’s security, so here I am, telling you what you need to know.”

  “We’ll help,” D.D. said.

  Danielle and the gym coach turned to stare at her. If anything, they both grew more irritated.

  “We can handle this,” Danielle said tightly.

  “Really? Then where’s the kid?”

  Danielle thinned her lips and looked like she wanted to hit something. Preferably, D.D.D.D. spread her hands. “Sounds like you need to launch a search—right?—while also managing the unit. You need bodies. Here’s a news flash: We’re four bodies who all have experience looking for missing people. Don’t be an idiot. Let us help.”

  “Well, since you asked so nicely,” Danielle muttered.

  D.D. smiled. “All right,” she announced briskly, taking control of the situation. Phil was walking down the hall, holding a stack of paperwork. She waved him over, and her squad clustered around the nurse and MC. “Who are we looking for? Description?”

  “Nine-year-old female,” Danielle supplied. “Thin, with long dark hair matted around her face. Last seen wearing an oversized green surgical scrub top. She might be naked, however. She’s clothing-challenged.”

  D.D. arched a brow. “You said the solarium. That mean she’s gone AWOL before?”

  The nurse nodded. “Yesterday. Which is very unusual,” she added. “We have two sets of locked doors. We can’t remember a child ever getting off the floor of the PECB once, let alone twice in two days.”

  “So she has some skill.”

  “Apparently.” But Danielle was frowning again. She and the MC exchanged troubled looks, and D.D.’s cop radar flared. Something was definitely up with the unit. Given that the pediatric psych ward was now the common denominator between two heinous crimes, D.D. and her detectives planned on turning this place inside out, and searching for a missing kid was a great place to start. Gave them extenuating circumstances to poke their noses in every nook and cranny, and see what was to be seen. Save a kid, expose a psych ward. Night was looking up.

  “We’ll need to see your security video,” D.D. announced.

  “We don’t have cameras.”

  “You don’t have surveillance? A place like this, with these types of kids and God knows what type of parents? Please, surveillance cameras are for your own protection in this day and age of lunatic lawsuits.”

  “We don’t have cameras,” Danielle repeated. “We have a checks system: a staff member assigned to write down the location and activity of every child every five minutes. One, that enables us to keep tabs on all the kids so, in theory, this kind of thing doesn’t happen. Two, it provides a written record so that six months from now, when a child or parent suddenly alleges inappropriate behavior, we can verify that the child was indeed safe and accounted for during the alleged time. The system has worked well for us.”

  “Until tonight.”

  “Until Lucy,” the nurse murmured. She hesitated, then added, “Lucy’s a primal child. She has no social awareness, no sense of her own humanity. Since coming here, she’s adopted the persona of a house cat. That seems to keep her calm. If that illusion gets shattered, however, she becomes violent and unpredictable.” The nurse raised her dark curtain of hair, revealing a string of fresh purple bruises on her neck. “I would consider her a threat to herself and/or others.”

  “Damn,” D.D. breathed. She felt some of her earlier euphoria dim.

  “If you find her,” Danielle continued, letting her hair fall back down, “don’t approach her. Dealing with her is our job, and trust me, you’re not qualified. Do you understand?”

  “We’re not total idiots,” D.D. said, which was neither an affirmation nor a denial about approaching the child. “All right, we’ll split into pairs. We’ll work each floor of the medical center, top to bottom, and ask hospital security to work bottom to top.”

  “I’ll be assisting,” Danielle said tightly.

  “Me, too,” the gym coach chimed in. He glanced at Danielle, face grim. “Buddies, remember?”

  Another look exchanged between the
m. Personal relationship: D.D. would stake her job on it.

  “Our nurse manager, Karen, will help, too. She should be here in”—Danielle glanced at her watch—“another twenty minutes or so.”

  D.D. nodded. “Tell you what. You’re the pros. So, Danielle, how about you partner with me. Gym Coach … er—”

  “Greg,” he supplied.

  “Greg, you’re with Neil. Phil and Alex can be team number three. We can alert one another the second we find the girl. Any other advice?”

  “Think like a cat,” Danielle said. “Lucy’s drawn to quiet places with natural light. Sunbeams, moonbeams, that sort of thing. Or she may curl up someplace cozy instead: inside a cabinet, under a desk. Like a cat.”

  D.D. and Danielle would start with the psych ward, the top floor of the hospital. Greg and Neil would cover the seventh floor, while Alex and Phil would take level six.

  D.D. secured in a locker the records Phil had photocopied. Then she and Danielle hit the unit.

  The nurse led D.D. down the hallway, where a huge window overlooked a dazzling city nightscape. They passed half a dozen kids tossing and turning restlessly on mats, with a lone staff member keeping watch. Danielle greeted the MC by name. Ed informed her that another MC, Cecille, was tending Aimee, while Tyrone had Jorge in the TV room.

  D.D. got the impression that the unit remained a busy place, even though it was now nearly three in the morning.

  At the end of the hallway, Danielle paused, gesturing to the first pair of dorm rooms. Danielle took the one to the right, D.D. the one to the left, and they blitzed their way down the corridor. From what D.D. could tell, each room was identical to the last, with the exception of one that contained only a bare mattress. Apparently, that room belonged to the missing child, who had a tendency to turn furniture into weapons.

  They finished checking the sleeping quarters, then the bathrooms, the locked kitchenette, and the locked Admin area. D.D. looked under every desk, even found herself pulling out the paper tray for the copier.

  “Think like a cat,” she muttered to herself. “Think like a cat.”

  D.D.’d never had a cat. Hell, she didn’t trust herself with a goldfish. They made it through the Admin area, the common room, the classrooms, and the waiting room. From there, she and Danielle discussed more creative possibilities—accessing ductwork, climbing up into ceiling tiles, exiting through a window.