by Alex Gates
Hush Little Baby
A Detective London McKenna Novel
Alex Gates
Contents
Contact Alex Gates
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Epilogue
Contact Alex Gates
Acknowledgments
HUSH LITTLE BABY
Copyright © 2017 by Alex Gates
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you’d like to share it with. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
Cover Design: Pink Ink Designs
Created with Vellum
For my husband -
He might be my inspiration for James.
But no one tell him that. It’ll go right to his head.
-Alexandra
Contact Alex Gates
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AuthorAlexGates
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1
“You’re so young and innocent, London.
I almost hate to ruin the world for you.”
-Him
An abandoned newborn baby cried in the corner of the handicap stall, swaddled only in a bundle of rough, brown paper towels.
A grocery store bathroom was no place to give birth.
And it was no place for the tiny bundle of pink to take her first breaths of air. Alone.
The mother was gone.
How long had the baby been left on the cold floor?
“Oh, God no…” My purse dropped to my feet. My heart went with it.
Smeared streaks of afterbirth and blood clotted in the tiled corners of the bathroom, swept away with a diligent hand and more paper towels. The mother must have attempted to clean the stall after the birth, but where was she now? Didn’t she need medical care? A doctor?
An epidural?
I doubted she’d gone to pilfer a bottle of aspirin from the pharmacy. She’d given birth in a public bathroom and fled.
Why didn’t she take her baby?
I burst into the stall, fighting a wave of nausea as the black and white tiled floor stained pink. I slipped on the slick floor but held the wall to prevent crashing onto the most heartbreaking sight I’d ever seen, and working for the Pittsburgh Police didn’t permit any naivety.
The baby was nestled in a dirty corner between a tiny plastic garbage pail and the yellowing toilet. Tiny legs kicked—lethargic and stiff, but alive. A little girl. She was tangled in a pile of rough paper towels and wads of disintegrating toilet paper. Not the celebration we’d given my niece when she was born. No bouquet of roses or menagerie of teddy bears for this baby. The most this kid had was an automatic air freshener periodically spritzing Meadow Fresh into the bathroom. Maybe a couple blown up condoms to serve as balloons.
Welcome to the world.
She didn’t cry. Hardly moved. A thick coating of drying afterbirth glazed her arms, legs, and midway across her torso. The cord hadn’t been cut. The kinked ribbon was a pale white now, only a thread of blue in the center. It attached to a rubbery blob straight out of a horror movie. The mother had stuffed it into the tiny garbage pail, hidden under paper towels and sanitary napkins.
But the baby’s face—her lovely rosy cheeks and brilliant blue eyes framed by a swath of dark hair—was clean.
Why would a mother hide her birth, partially clean her newborn, then leave the baby abandoned against a cold toilet?
And what the hell was I supposed to do?
I peeled off my jacket, ripping the badge from my pocket so it wouldn’t poke the baby. I tossed the gold shield across the bathroom. It plinked into one of the sinks, stained as pink as the floor.
I plucked her from the soiled paper towels. She kicked and fussed only once the heat from my hands warmed her fragile skin.
At least she had a pair of lungs on her. That was good, right? Her shrill cry bounced off the restroom walls, probably the only time I’d ever been relieved to hear a baby’s inconsolable wailing. I couldn’t imagine what she thought.
Where’s my mother? Why is my ass so cold? I expected nursery rhymes and songs, not price checks and bad eighties ballads.
I didn’t have much to warm her up, only my thin windbreaker I’d grabbed from the bottom of my locker before leaving the station—late as usual. I’d almost skipped my trip to the grocery store too. The real hero here were the kidney beans, carrots, and bag of potatoes I’d promised James I’d pitch in the slow cooker before work tomorrow morning. My turn to cook. Not exactly romantic, but what man didn’t like a hearty stew?
At least I’d made it to the store. If someone hadn’t found her…
No. Couldn’t think about that now. The baby needed help.
Hell. So did I.
The tiny infant snuggled inside my coat, but it wasn’t enough. I’d have to call an ambulance. A hospital.
Her goddamned mother.
I’d seen a lot of shit in my eight years on the force, but this…
This was beyond cruel. Beyond abuse. Most crimes were the result of wild passion and extreme emotional reactions. But this was too cold, too heartless, to be anything but premediated. I starred at the baby. My hair fell in disorderly twists over my face, freed from the last scrunchie that’d snapped during my twelve-hour shift.
Almost forgot to pick up a new pack of hair ties. Seemed…insignificant now. Especially as the baby stared at the blonde wave closest to her face. Glassy eyed? Was that normal? Could a newborn even see?
Jesus, I had no idea what to do for this child. Shock combated whatever fledgling—failing—maternal instincts I possessed. The kid was better off with t
he mother who had abandoned her in the bathroom of the Shadyside Giant Eagle. Unless the child was old enough to bribe with candy and smart enough to work an iPad, I had no idea what to do for them.
I plunked onto the floor, holding the baby as close to my chest as I dared. The poor thing had a terrible enough first hour of life. If she thought she’d been squeezed hard squirting into the world, she should have prepared for a tough couple of minutes while I clutched her to my chest and did my best to slow my adrenaline-fueled heart. I shifted my weight, trying to hold her comfortably.
God, she was tiny.
Tiny and fragile and entirely too delicate, especially in my arms as I uncomfortably twisted. I hadn’t been able to use the bathroom since after lunch. I’d have to hold it a bit longer.
“Help!”
Shouting was remarkably inconsiderate while holding the child, but I froze, drunk on adrenaline, shaking as I clutched the innocent baby against me. I could face the barrel of a gun or climb out of a shallow grave, but trusting myself around someone so…
Pure?
“Oh, I’m sorry kid…” I was the worst person in the world to hold this child, but at least she had someone now. “I gotcha. We’re in this together…”
At least until I found someone to take her. Someone worth cuddling a baby to her breast. Someone who could whisper that gentle sweet promise—everything will be okay. I’d heard it so many times the platitude lost all meaning. No need to infect a newborn with that pessimism, that lie.
“Someone help!”
Most Samaritans were good if not delayed. A minute passed before the restroom door opened and a store clerk fumbled the pack of cigarettes from her pocket and onto the floor. The teenage girl gaped at us with winged eyeliner, a streak of purple hair, and a ring shaped like a spider web crossing over her hand.
“Did…” Her mouth dropped open, black lipliner dark against the whites of her teeth. “Did you just have a baby?”
I glanced down. I’d shed my bulky coat, what more did she want? Hell, I still fit into my size eight jeans tucked into the bottom of my dresser. Of course, the tens felt better when a case got tough and day after day of investigation meant more meals ravenously consumed outside food trucks than at the dinner table, but I thought I looked better than that.
Great. Tomorrow morning meant hastily prepared white bean stew in the slow cooker between a set of crunches and squats.
“No, I didn’t give birth.” I bit the profanity and concentrated on the child. “I found her. Call 911. Tell them Detective London McKenna is on scene and requests an ambulance for a newborn baby, born within the past hour.”
The girl stepped into the bathroom but scrunched her nose as her Vans stuck to the floor. “I’m going to have to clean this up—”
“Call them now! And find your manager!”
The teenager flinched, but she followed my orders, spouting the address and situation to the dispatcher. She bolted away, and within seconds the intercom clicked over the store.
“Larry, the police need you in the women’s bathroom!”
Great. Not what I needed. A scene.
If the mother was still in the store, if for some ungodly reason she’d given birth and walked away from the pain, the mess, and her own damn child, she’d never return now, not when the clerk revealed to the store that an irritable detective who hadn’t peed in the last eight hours seethed in a puddle of afterbirth and waited for the opportunity to pounce on the negligent woman.
The manager burst into the restroom before the teenage girl finished the second page over the store’s PA system. He crashed against the door, stumbling backwards as he surveyed the carnage. Beads of sweat sprouted on his forehead, and he used the end of his thin black tie to pat the shine from his face. The tie followed his streak of baldness, chasing back to the monk line behind his ears.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” He fell against the wall, further wrinkling his white shirt and slacks. The weariness cracked his voice, and he jittered like a rattled can of Coke. I had enough bodily fluids on me. I didn’t need to be around when his blood pressure popped him like a dropped two-liter bottle. “What the hell happened in here?”
“I’m Detective McKenna, Pittsburgh Police. I need you to find your employees and search the store—every inch of it. A woman gave birth in this bathroom. I’m no OBGYN, but I bet she’s in no condition to get far. Find her. She might still be here.”
“But…” He pointed at the baby. “Oh, Christ. Tell me it’s not dead.”
My heart stalled. I dug through the windbreaker to peek at her face. The baby had gone still, her eyes closed and breathing light, but she was still with me. But weak. And cold.
And so very alone.
The teenage clerk clutched her phone. She pointed a trembling finger at my leg. “What…what the hell is that?”
Bloody, slimy, and sticking to my jeans. “It’s the placenta. The mother didn’t cut the cord.”
“I think I’m going to be sick.”
The miracle of life. “Go get me some aluminum foil.”
“You’re not saving the placenta, are you?”
“Goddamn it, no! I’m saving the baby. I don’t have an insulated blanket—it’ll have to do until the paramedics get here.”
I reached into the coat to test the baby’s pulse. What I lacked in maternal instincts, I made up in first responder training. And James had complained about getting me the Apple Watch for my birthday. Sure, it was thoroughly impractical and not a romantic gesture, but I’d take the lifesaving tick of a second hand over a diamond ring. I pinched my finger over the baby’s brachial artery and waited.
Eighty beats a minute.
“We need that ambulance…” I frowned at the teenager, too busy flipping through her phone to run. “Go get the aluminum foil! And bring me some towels. Cloth. My jacket’s all bloody now, and it’s only making her colder.”
“What about diapers?”
I’d take my chances. “Go!”
Larry fretted, pacing the floor. He shouted into the store, whistling between two fingers to draw the attention of another clerk.
“Get the mop!” He rubbed his face. “And…and disinfectant!”
That could wait until I was sure the baby would live. “Leave it. Unless the mother is still in the store, this is a crime scene. Don’t touch anything. Go search the exits for her. Find any employee who might have seen a heavily pregnant woman heading for these bathrooms.”
The man was so stricken with panic he’d choke on it. “Is it okay? What can I do? I got two boys of my own. Maybe…maybe I can help.”
We were well beyond lullabies and peek-a-boo now. “Just find her mother.”
Larry stumbled over the loafers straining to contain his two swollen left feet. He ran from the restroom, calling for his employees to follow. He wouldn’t find anything. If no one had yet reported a woman in excruciating pain bleeding all over the cereal aisle, I doubted she’d stayed in the store.
She’d birthed her child and left her sick and nearly hypothermic in the bathroom. Then she’d walked away like nothing had happened. Like she hadn’t abandoned her own flesh and blood and left the poor thing hidden behind a leaking toilet to die.
I rewrapped the jacket over the infant. She couldn’t have weighed more than the bag of sugar parked in my cart outside the bathroom. Little fingers. Little toes. A little heart beating so hard and yet not nearly fast enough.
An employee had posted a schedule with times and dates on the back of the door. I scooted closer, squinting to decipher the chicken-scratch handwriting detailing when the bathrooms were last cleaned. Five o’clock. Nearly an hour and a half ago.
Women didn’t give birth spontaneously. Not only was it time-consuming, women weren’t quiet during the process. Surely someone had to see or hear the mother in the bathroom.
And hopefully they got a good enough look at the monster that I’d be able to nail her down and haul her ass into the station. If she didn’t want to give bi
rth in a hospital or at home, then she certainly wouldn’t like spending her nights sleeping in a jail cell.
The teenaged clerk returned, her arms loaded with everything I hadn’t asked for. Diapers. Wipes. Pacifiers. A bottle and formula.
“I didn’t know what kind of foil…” She panted, out of breath from her dash across the store. “Will this work?”
Plastic cling wrap? Goddamn it.
I snapped my fingers, gesturing for the clerk’s vest. She whipped it off and helped me to swaddle the baby as best we could. A clean wipe cleared some of the fluids and drying bits from behind the baby’s ear. Her head was uncovered. That was probably bad. I pulled her close once more and did my best to keep the poor thing warm.
It wouldn’t be enough.
“No one saw anything.” The clerk shook her head, clattering the black plastic hoop earrings hanging nearly to her collar. She cautiously wiped her hands on her jeans before nervously answering a text. Her phone constantly flashed, the screen full of notifications. “I mean, Larry is still checking. But…but I asked around.”
“Maybe she didn’t look pregnant,” I said. “The baby is small. She might have looked like she was—”
“Fat? There’s loads of fat women in the store.”
I gritted my teeth. “Like she was in pain.”
“Oh.”
“Gather all the employees who were on duty this afternoon and tonight. Find anyone who might have information. I need details. What the woman looked like. What she was wearing. When she came into the store. Which way she left.”
“Are you going to arrest her?”
Hell if I knew. Nothing I did to her would compare to the pain she’d just endured. “Not immediately. It all depends on what happened. First, I need to make sure she’s okay and not hemorrhaging in the parking lot. Send out a couple people to search the entire lot and the surrounding stores. She might’ve gone into Panera or Subway…”