“He’s been bathed,” Alex told him quietly.
“We can try,” Al said, pulling up a chair next to Kerri.
She said low, “Mom only saw the assailant in a ski mask. Charlie may have pulled it away, scratched his face.”
The creases of Al’s kindly face seemed to grow longer.
“Hey Charlie?” he said, opening his case and leaning closer. “I need you to help me. Your mom says you scratched the bad man, maybe got some skin scrapings. Would you let me find them under your nails to help us catch him?”
The child turned onto his stomach with his face more in the pillow, thumb and all. Kids this age didn’t watch cop shows.
“Charlie?” Al started laying small, clean pieces of paper along the edge of the bed, then got out a flat wooden toothpick. He held it up. “I promise to be super fast, and this is all I’m going to use. Want to see?”
The tousled head turned slightly on the pillow. Frightened little eyes opened to swollen slits, just to peek. Then the child went limp. Not helping, not resisting as Jake Benton bent to him, gently lifting him and turning him onto his back.
“Charlie likes Spider Man,” Kerri said feelingly; and Al said, “Spidey? Hey, my nephew loves him. He uses weapons that are crazy dangerous, right? But he’s a good guy.”
Nothing. Charlie lay, watching Al through blank, swollen slits.
But he didn’t resist as Al gently uncurled his right fist first, and started using a different toothpick for each fingernail.
“On top of the bath, the sucking,” he said quietly, noting the wet, puckered skin of Charlie’s right thumb. “I’m not expecting anything there.”
“That leaves nine other fingers,” Kerri breathed. “Maybe the nurses missed something.” Her shoulder nearly touched Al’s as she stroked Charlie’s arm, which should have been baby soft, and wasn’t.
She looked at Jake Benton, who’d been frowning at Charlie’s chart on his iPad. “His skin seems dry, rough.”
The young doctor nodded somberly. “He’s refused food and liquids. Liquids matter. Dry, flaky skin means the start of dehydration…and problems,” he added softly.
Kerri touched Charlie’s cheek. It, too, felt dry, like softest sandpaper. She watched Benton put his iPad down and look grimly back to her.
“Refusing liquids…what will you do?”
He winced and drew air in under his teeth. “Another hour of this and he’ll need an IV. He sweated off a lot in his adrenalin blitz. Dehydration starts a whole cascade of multiple organ failure, so…yeah, it’ll have to be an IV.”
The thought of them restraining Charlie again, tying his little arm to a board and pushing in an IV was unbearable. They’d have to tie down his other arm, too; tie it to a side rail so he couldn’t pull at the tubing. Kerri had seen kids hooked up to IVs.
Her mind raced. Part of her watched Al finish up and tell Charlie how good he’d been. He’d put each nail scraping into its own folded paper, then into an evidence bag and then into his case.
Alex was thanking him. Adjusting his hat, he bent to Charlie and patted his shoulder. “Thanks, buddy. You’re going to help us catch a bad guy.”
Then he closed his case and left.
And Kerri stood. “No IV,” she said.
Jake Benton looked at her.
“I have an idea.” Her heart thudded. “Hold off on the IV, okay? I’ll be right back.”
She gave Alex a look that said come, and ran out. Alex met Jake’s surprised expression. “Wait,” he said. “She doesn’t disappoint.”
They hurried past a uniformed cop guarding outside. At the elevator Alex said, “Penny for ’em?” and Kerri shook her head.
“Not sure if this will work. I just hope, bear with me.”
“Don’t I always?”
“No.”
“Usually?”
Kerri shrugged, tense.
They exited the hospital and jogged across First Avenue. Kerri pointed up a block.
“There,” she said.
East Side Market, 24/7 Groceries, read the sign over the door.
She flew up one aisle and down another. Found what she wanted and paid the sleepy clerk.
They were back to Pediatrics in fourteen minutes.
12
Outside in the hall, Benton was standing with a nurse over a rolling table piled with medications. He looked up, surprised at Kerri’s slightly bulging grocery bag, and followed them in.
She plunked herself down and got out a jar. “Ugh,” she said, struggling with its lid.
“Gimme.” Alex pulled up the chair Nunez had occupied. His hands were strong. With a pop! he got the lid open. Held it, and Kerri leaned to sniff. “Mm-m, yum.”
Then she looked at Jake Benton, standing on the other side of the bed with a what the hell? look.
“I need a spoon,” Kerri said, and Jake, suddenly catching on, handed her a wooden tongue depressor. “Will this do?”
“For starters,” she said, breathing a bit fast. This had to work, it had to…
Fascinated, Benton lowered Charlie’s rail and sat on the bed. Charlie lay as before, body hunched with his back to Benton.
But he was facing Kerri. His blank, swollen eyes peeked at her badge on her parka, then squeezed shut again.
She reached and gently pulled his little fist from his face, whispering “It’s okay, it’s okay.”
She dipped the tongue depressor into the jar, scooped out creamy peanut butter, and smeared it on the tips of Charlie’s thumb and index finger. She’d explained the idea in the elevator. Alex had been surprised. “Don’t look too thrilled,” she’d nervously told him. “It may not work.”
They all waited.
Nothing. The sticky goo just sat on the child’s fingertips.
A full ninety seconds ticked by – Kerri checked her watch; Benton checked his…and then – oh, say hallelujah, Charlie’s thumb went back in his mouth.
He sucked.
And sucked.
And was still for moments, thumb cleared of peanut butter.
Then he squirmed.
Now his index finger was sticky, uncomfortable, so he sucked on that, too. Sucked hard, getting the finger clean before he switched, and pushed his thumb back in his mouth.
“I’ll be damned,” Jake Benton said softly.
Kerri did it again, first putting the jar with its bright letters – red SKIPPY in a blue label - on the bed before Charlie, then smearing peanut butter this time on his thumb and more fingers…all the while her voice lulling, cajoling. “It makes kids strong. Tastes so good too, doesn’t it? I’ll bet you love peanut butter.”
The stickiness bothered. While the others held their breaths, Charlie spent long moments sucking his fingers clean, and before the thumb could return to his mouth Kerri caught it gently, repeated the process.
Charlie was soon sucking away. Once his eyes actually focused on the jar before him.
Kerri looked at Alex. “Part Two?” she said, her eyes glistening. This was working. In the elevator they’d agreed that peanut butter makes you thirsty.
From the grocery bag, he pulled a can of Coke and a package of bright bendy straws. He popped out several and leaned to the child.
“What color would you like?” he asked Charlie, conferring a sense of control, widely splaying straws of purple, orange, yellow, green and red.
Kerri whispered, “Gotta get rid of that sticky feeling in your mouth, right?”
Jake Benton came around the bed smiling, shaking his head, watching the little boy’s wan eyes seem to focus on the red straw.
“Yes sir, red it is,” Alex smiled at him. He popped open the Coke, inserted the straw, and leaned it to Charlie’s mouth.
The boy sipped, weakly.
And then he sipped some more.
“I’m gonna write a paper on this,” Jake Benton said softly. His voice caught. “No IV necessary. Awesome.”
Kerri pulled in a deep breath, deeper than she’d been able to breathe in hours.
Benton went out to the hall. They heard him call and talk to someone, then he came back with a spoon - “Stole it from a morning tray” - and an emotional, high-whispering nurse who couldn’t believe! She’d been so worried!
Jake introduced her. “Andrea, meet Kerri and Alex. They did what we couldn’t.”
“You are saints,” Andrea said, coming to them. “You must be so tired, let me take it from here.”
They did. Kerri was suddenly feeling drained, and it was almost two in the morning.
She leaned to kiss Charlie’s cheek, promising to come back tomorrow.
Benton was elated seeing them out, effusing about Coke’s sugar and salt, and the protein and other great stuff in peanut butter. Then he turned solemn again at the elevator.
“There’s still the emotional recovery to worry about.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Which would have been worse if he’d…”
“Lost his mom,” Kerri filled in quietly.
“Yes. He’ll see her tomorrow. I hope that helps.”
Kerri still fretted. Some children never get over such trauma…
The elevator arrived. They said see you tomorrow, and got in.
13
Alex drove back to Kerri’s Tahoe, pulling up alongside.
“Follow me home?” he mumbled, listing to her.
She fell into his arms, feeling her whole body ache. Images of the long, horrible night – Lauren Huff lying dead, Rachel Sparkes crying after surgery, Charlie traumatized – flipped by like some old-time nightmare sequence. The child especially…that hurt so bad.
“I keep seeing his little face,” she whispered. “I’m exhausted but I feel such fury.”
“You have to sleep,” Alex said in the gentlest voice, and reached across her for the door handle. “C’mon, follow me home.”
Kerri lived way up on West 110th Street near Riverside Park, so Alex’s apartment just blocks from their station had become their go-to place for nights that were now more frequent. The rain had stopped. She slid out, started her engine, and followed him the nine blocks from Greenwich Street up Tenth Avenue to West Twenty-fourth, the heart of Chelsea. He lived in a one-bedroom in an older building that still had charm and a working fireplace.
She arrived, dragging herself in, and sank back on the couch. The awful images still haunted her. A monster had to be caught. She closed her eyes and stormed at herself about where to begin.
“Wine enough?” Alex asked. He was microwaving two somethings and pouring wine on the coffee table before her.
“Brandy,” she said. “Right into the vein. Got an IV?”
He chortled. She found herself giving in to a smile and watched him go for two snifters of Courvoisier two inches full.
They sprawled and clinked, and Kerri drank about half the brandy in a gulp. “Oh, I needed that. Almost as much as I need that young mother and her child helped.”
“Tonight was bad to be your first back in the field.”
“I would have come running. No way would I have heard and stayed put in the station.”
“Okay, but take it easy on yourself. Rachel and Charlie are in good hands. We’ll get the bastard who did this.”
“How? No evidence, no apparent motive, no witness except Charlie and even that isn’t certain.” Kerri was getting worked up again. “He might have been too hysterical. Or just seen part of the creep’s face and there’s no way to know how long he’ll be traumatized…”
“Try to calm. You need to fight another day.” The microwave dinged and Alex was up again.
He retrieved two hot barbecued chicken dinners, which turned out to be surprisingly good. The blurry warmth of the brandy was working, and after they ate, Alex’s arms parted and Kerri burrowed into his shoulder.
He squeezed her with tender care, and it felt like layers of pain were suddenly stripped away. Not just tonight, but the daily strain of working in Homicide…or even thinking about it. Years ago, an older cop had told Kerri it’s a shit ugly world, and being young at the time, she’d mostly rejected it. There were good people too, right?
Problem was, you didn’t see too many of them in police work. The minister who abused kids, the charity leader who stole from poor people, the save-the-planet do-gooder who drowned his wife…
Kerri smothered such thoughts, and Alex’s warmth brought comfort.
When her first marriage was coming apart, Kerri had also lost a child. Sweet little Chloe, who’d lived twelve precious minutes after her premature birth. The separation from a charmer-turned-nasty had left Kerri in bad shape. She hadn’t reacted quickly and some speeding drunk slammed into her. First responders needed the jaws of life to cut her out of her wreck, then rushed her to the hospital and the ill-fated birth. It was still painful to pass baby clothes stores.
Near Chloe’s tiny grave, a dogwood bloomed pink in the spring. It was beautiful and heart-breaking…worse when the petals started to shrivel and fall…
Kerri felt her head start to nod.
Alex squeezed her shoulder and said, “Sleepy time. Tomorrow’s going to be something.”
They practically fell into bed. Made slow, loving love, and were nearly asleep when Alex, after moments, asked quietly, “Where’d you get your idea for the peanut butter? So much frenzy, it just occurred to wonder…”
Kerri inhaled.
“From the Discovery Channel. Years ago I saw…in some zoo a mother chimp died and her baby was grieving. Wouldn’t eat, was wasting away. A zoo worker got peanut butter. The stickiness bothered so he started to lick his fingers. It saved him.”
In the darkness, she heard Alex pull in a breath. “Sweet story.”
Her body was tucked under his arm.
“Show it to the squad?” he asked. “It’s a heart healer.”
“I’ll find it.” Depression was way too common among cops. So…stick the zoo saves chimp story between recordings of 911 shrieks for help and yelling suspects hurling abuse, not a bad idea. Ted Connor had replaced a detective who took his life…but that broken cop had suffered childhood trauma.
And that thought brought Kerri back to Charlie.
In seconds his happy, little boy’s life had exploded.
“This case is going to be tough,” she whispered.
“I know.” Alex’s breathing was heavy. “Sleep.”
“Okay.”
Tomorrow would be crazed with the investigation, the media. Maybe Rachel could shed more light. Had there been a jealous boyfriend? Had she or Lauren Huff complained of a stalker? Would Charlie’s fingernails yield any evidence for Nunez?
There had to be something.
Kerri fell asleep. Some time during the night she dreamed of a man in a cowboy hat crawling through a desert, clinging to a glass slide and trying to call to her. He was dying of thirst under falling pink petals…
14
Ricky Betts was pumped. Alex had asked him last night to help organize a briefing; had been on the phone this morning with him first thing, adding details. In the hour Ricky had been back at the station, calls had come in. Tearful people they’d called after midnight finally getting to their voice mails.
It was just after eight. Squad members were trooping in and it was all hands on deck. Buck Dillon, fresh from his drive down from the Bronx and carrying a bakery bag, handed Rick his copy of the New York Post.
“You see this?” he asked.
The front page blared: TWO WOMEN ATTACKED, ONE DEAD, POLICE STUMPED.
The article described the “fear of neighbors inhabiting this busy neighborhood in the West Village, where an unknown intruder climbed three flights of stairs and shot two women, killing one, severely wounding the other. No witnesses have been found. Police have refused further comment.”
Ricky scowled and handed the paper back. “Police refuse further comment? They didn’t mention thirty cops still canvassing?”
“Course not.” Buck head
ed for the break room and the smell of coffee. “They just make up stuff, read Twitter, go back to bed.”
Kerri was emptying a bag of muffins next to the coffee maker. “Ah, my two favorite bakeries,” Buck said, adding assorted Danish to the platter. “You get any sleep?”
“Enough not to fall over,” she said gloomily, reaching for a spoon, dumping extra instant coffee into her cup.
“You’re gonna kill yourself with all that caffeine.”
“Nice it’s still legal, huh?”
She was impatient to get through a ton of musts – read files, make calls, write reports. Then she could call the hospital, figure a time to go over.
Feeling a knot in her chest, she followed Buck back to the busy squad room. Alex stood next to the podium, talking into his phone wedged between his shoulder and scribbling new notes. Ricky was watching him as if awaiting instructions.
The others stood around.
“You look ready to flop,” Jo Babiak whispered to Kerri. The younger detective’s long dark ponytail swung as she leaned closer.
“Been worse,” Kerri said. “What time did you and Buck stop canvassing?”
“Twelve-thirty, got the last ‘We just got home, saw nothing’ and the door slammed in our faces.” Jo subtly quick-fluttered her palms, miming the get lost gestures they often saw. People considered themselves too busy to be pulled – God forbid – into days of court testimony. They’d rather run into their apartments and lock the doors.
Kerri looked around.
Several uniformed people were present, plus detectives from the Sixth Precinct and Connor, Zienuc, and Lieutenant Tom Mackey. His arms were folded tight, and his florid, jowly face wore an expression that said, solve this ASAP. To Zienuc he was muttering, “High profile, the press is already killing us.”
“Tell ’em to go screw themselves,” Zienuc muttered back. “Leave a recording.” The dark, brooding cop was really big-hearted, but his grumpy non PC behavior often got them in trouble.
“Okay, eyes here,” Ricky Betts said, clicking his laptop. Two images displayed on the screen. “Lauren Huff and Rachel Sparkes, both twenty-four,” he said, pointing first to Lauren on the left, then Rachel on the right. “Killer shot and ran, no burglary or sex assault, no apparent motive.”
Shoeless Child Page 4