Hush Little Baby

by Alex Gates

  Usually an interrogation room terrified people.

  But the teenage girl curled up in her chair, rested her head on her hands, and went to sleep.

  Maybe the drugs knocked her out. Maybe the adrenaline crashed after the doctors promised they would help and protect her baby.

  Or maybe the thick, barricaded walls of the police station allowed the girl to finally feel safe.

  The interrogation room camera didn’t catch much activity, but I wasn’t sure what answers I expected to find locked away with the girl. An explanation of what happened when she gave birth might have been nice. A reason that she’d left her child. Why she suddenly felt such desperation to take her back.

  Was it a mother’s love that demanded her baby be returned to her breast…or was the girl dangerous? Had guilt twisted with her hormones and driven her into a post-partum psychosis that would endanger her and the baby?

  Nothing made sense about the case, least of all the teenage girl shivering in lavender scrubs two sizes too big. The color clashed with her pale skin and the horrendous bruises marring the side of her face. She might have been pretty—once. Dark circles sunk her eyes, and her skin tightened, thin and worn, across her cheeks. The drugs dulled her chestnut hair, the same color as the dirt caked around and under her fingernails.

  Worse of all, she slumped. Not bad posture, but a learned, defensive slouch. Like she didn’t want to be seen. Like she’d disappear into the table if everyone averted their gazes for only a second.

  At least she’d crossed her arms over her chest before falling asleep. Protective. A little fight remained in her. That was good. I’d seen too many defeated, beaten women while working for the Family Crisis and Sexual Assault unit. Unfortunately, surrender was harder than fighting—one trapped you for a lifetime, and the other blessed your strength with bruises and blood.

  The department door opened. I expected a lawyer. Not even close.

  “What the hell kind of case dropped in your lap, McKenna?”

  Homicide Detective Lucas Riley announced himself with all the subtlety of a belch during mass. Usually he had the decency to stay on homicide’s side of the building, but he got his jollies being the giggle during my moment of silence. “You’re the talk of the town again.”

  “Jealous?” I asked.

  Riley’s partner, Joey Falconi, was sweet enough to bring me a can of Coke. Riley was enough of an ass to insist that it be diet. I knew better than to open it. If they were bored enough to hang around my interrogations, they’d probably shaken the can.

  “What are you two doing here?” I shooed Riley away from the camera monitor.

  Joey saluted me with his thirty-two-ounce cup. “Had to greet the hero.”

  Just looking at his drink would keep me up all night. “Tell me that isn’t all coffee.

  Falconi shook his head. “Twins have strep throat.”

  “Which pair?”

  “Both.”

  Riley nodded toward the video surveillance. “Need any help?”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, Riley, but you’re about as useful to me as soggy toilet paper.”

  Falconi snorted. “And you thought she didn’t like you.”

  Riley clutched his chest. “Breaking my heart, honey.”

  “Why are you guys here so late?”

  “Party in homestead.” Riley helped himself to a chair and rolled it to my desk. I knocked his boots off my papers before he got too comfortable. “Your Friday night usual—drugs, poverty, and non-committal witnesses.”

  “Plus we wanted to gawk,” Falconi said.

  “That too.”

  Great. Frick and Frack settled in.

  Riley crossed his thick arms behind his head. A new tattoo showed through his white dress shirt, flexing the bulky muscles that moved in after his family moved out. The tat probably meant he’d had another unproductive, drunken conversation with his ex-wife. No wonder he took on the extra hours. Overtime maintained that bad habit of child support and an outstanding mortgage.

  “So, what’s her story?” Riley asked.

  Everyone involved in the matter still had a beating heart, so I doubted the homicide detectives cared much about the case. I tried anyway. “I don’t like it. Something’s wrong.”

  Falconi rubbed the scruff on his chin—a five o’clock shadow that grew in last week. “Well…yeah. Look at her. I’ve seen guys not break a sweat, but she’s freaking sleeping. Sociopath?”

  I tensed. “Is that your professional opinion?”

  “Come on, McKenna,” Riley said. “She set fire to a NICU.”

  “I know.”

  “And stole her heroin addicted baby from an incubator.”

  “I know.”

  “After giving birth to the kid in a Giant Eagle.”

  “Market District though,” Falconi said. “Fancy.”

  I snorted. “And that doesn’t strike you as odd?”

  “Not for a complete nut job,” Riley said.

  “She’s not.” I hoped. I Hadn’t made my assessment yet, but my gut told me I was right. “A normal teenager, even a pregnant teen with no options, doesn’t act out like this. What happened that frightened her so much?”

  It’d take three beers before Riley would understand normal human empathy. I had a bottle of mouthwash in my locker. Maybe he’d chug that and discover a shred of decency.

  “No one told her to shoot up while she was nine months pregnant,” he said. “No one told her to squeeze out a kid in the grocery store and run back home. And no one told her to torch a hospital. She did that all on her own.”

  I wasn’t so sure about that. “Maybe.”

  Falconi watched the screen, nodding as the girl stretched and yawned. “What’s your boyfriend say? Good old Dr. Novak probably salivates over a case like this.”

  Professionalism, thy name was job security. It was hard to tell what was good-natured ribbing and what was an insult I should have shut down. I didn’t need to cite my boyfriend’s expertise and credentials to interrogate my own perp. I blamed my nail polish. The light shade of pink looked good this morning, but any bit of femininity put me on trial before the suspect.

  “What good would James do here?” I asked. “He’s a criminal psychologist.”

  Riley grinned. “Got news for you, sweetheart. That’s a criminal in there.”

  And something pushed her to commit those crimes.

  Adamski joined us in front of the interrogation room. He passed me a folder and tossed a sport coat on over his shirt. “Riley’s right. And no one had to die to prove it. It’s a miracle.”

  Riley checked his watch. “Don’t worry. It’s only ten o’clock. Fun doesn’t start in Mount Oliver for another couple hours. Feeling like a double homicide sort of night.”

  I flipped through the folder and studied the mug shot. “Amber Reynolds. She’s eighteen, and…” I hated this. “Yeah. She’s been in some trouble.”

  I frowned. A year ago, she’d been sentenced to Grayson House for rehabilitation. How long ago had she left the facility? Maybe Hannah knew her?

  “Drugs, thefts, vandalism…” Adamski plucked a broken comb out of his pocket and actually combed his hair. “The teenage trifecta.”

  “Usually there’s a reason kids turn out this way—a bad family or a history of abuse,” I said.

  “Well, she’s no shining example of family values, is she?” Riley snickered.

  I ignored him. “There’s more to this than a troubled girl gone worse. I’m going to talk to her.”

  Falconi toasted me. “If you can convince a teenage girl to talk, teach me your ways. I got an eleven-year-old at home who makes me drop her off a block away from her school.”

  “Don’t worry.” I tied my hair into a pony tail, more casual and approachable to soothe Amber’s nerves. “I’ll get the whole story out of her. She did these things for a reason, and I’m going to find out why.”

  Adamski shook his head. “No. You’re not. Do this by the book, London. Get in
, have her sign the confession, and get out. Don’t go looking for trouble.”

  “Trouble?”

  “You know what happened the last time you started following those instincts.”

  “You mean when I saved twenty-five women and children from hell on earth?”

  “Twenty-four.” He tried to compliment sandwich me, but slathered the bad parts on too thick. “Look, everyone calls you a hero, London. But that’s not all they say. Believe me when I tell you, I’ve heard the things they whisper. Loose cannon. Reckless. Dangerous.”

  Riley didn’t need to join in these festivities. “Suicidal.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  Adamski seemed to agree. “You’ve gotten yourself into trouble more than once.”

  “And how much danger would others be in if I didn’t take the risk?”

  He exhaled. “Look, our job today is to have her sign the confession. We’ll keep her overnight for arraignment, and then the case is done. Quick and painless. Hell, she’s even waived her right to an attorney. We’ll be in an out.”

  Falconi grinned. “Go get em, tiger.”

  I didn’t like that. “Why wouldn’t she want an attorney? And what the hell do you mean by we?”

  “I’m going in there with you.”

  “Since when don’t you trust me to conduct an interrogation?”

  “Since this case plastered itself over the news because you didn’t think a teenage girl with a cell phone in her hand wasn’t going to Instagram the shit out of that baby.” He straightened his collar. Now the jacket and hair made sense. “You’re not making friends. You’re securing a confession. The entire department’s watching this case. Lieutenant Clark. Assistant Chief Esposto. Everyone.”

  And we’d handled high profile cases before. “So that means we can’t investigate this girl?”

  “What’s left to investigate?” Adamski asked. “London, listen to me. That pretty boy senator is coming in next week to tour the station with the police union. You get me? Do this right, and you’ll be the one shaking his hand and getting on his good side.”

  “What’s that have to do with my case—”

  Adamski jerked the folder out of my hands and pointed to the interview room as well as his swollen knuckles could manage. “I shouldn’t have to order you to take a positive step in your career. Do this, and then go home. Take a vacation day tomorrow. I think you need it.”

  Son of a bitch. “Fine. After you. But I’m doing the talking.”

  “Don’t make me give you the script.”

  I gritted my teeth. “Won’t be necessary, Sergeant.”

  He’d have to buy me a week’s worth of lunches to make up for this. Adamski rarely inserted himself into interviews with persons of interest or the families of the missing. So why the hell did he think I needed a babysitter now? A suspect was a suspect, but it didn’t take two years with the shield to know when a story had a couple more chapters hidden behind the neatly painted pictures.

  Amber briefly looked up when we entered. Her curious glance gnawed at me. The quick study wasn’t meant to memorize our faces—she checked to see if she recognized us. Not unusual for people often in trouble with the law, but with her…

  I’d work with it.

  “Hi, again.” I pulled the chair across from her and sat relaxed, open for eye contact. “I brought my sergeant in to talk with you too. I hope that’s okay.”

  She shrugged. Already less talkative than the few words she’d spoken in the parking garage. Of course, we’d parked her alone in the interview for the past three hours while we assessed the minimal damage to the NICU and checked on the health of the baby. It’d make anyone cranky.

  “Can I get you anything?” I offered. “Water? Some food? We can order in if you like—”

  Adamski tossed a notebook and pencil on the table. “Write your confession on this. Sign it, and we’ll be done.”

  I bit my tongue. Why didn’t he just stab her hand with the pen while he was at it? But Amber didn’t take offense. She stared at the paper and crossed her arms tighter.

  Angry? Defensive? Hard to read the girl. The only genuine movement I got from her was the constant tossing of hair behind her shoulder. I offered her the extra scrunchie on my wrist. She reached for it before the pencil.

  “What do you want it to say?” Her words chipped early—a little too tough and a lot of scared. Couldn’t blame her. She was just a kid. Puffy cheeks and baby curls. “What’s it gotta say?”

  “What you did.” Adamski didn’t soften his voice. “You oughta know. Just dot your I’s real nice and write down anything else burdening your conscience. I’m sure there’s a lot to cover.”

  Goddamn it. He’d picked the wrong day to roleplay if he wanted to act all bad cop.

  I tried again. “Let’s start at the beginning. Talk it through with me. Why don’t we begin with the baby?”

  Amber’s lip trembled, but she held it together better than I expected with the dusting of freckles over her nose and cheeks. “What’s there to say? I had a baby. That’s it.”

  “That’s it?” Adamski loomed over the table, his hands braced wide and intimidating. “You gave birth to a baby addicted to heroin! And that’s it?”

  She looked away. “Sorry?”

  Adamski swore. I nearly did too, but not for the same frustrations.

  Amber held onto a bit of baby weight, but not a lot. Made sense. Hope weighed five pounds if she was lucky. Maybe she hadn’t gained much during the pregnancy? Drugs would do that.

  Then again, Amber was exhausted, bruised, and worn out. But she wasn’t sweating. No shaking. No nervous twitching. She’d taken a nap for an hour, but she sure as hell wasn’t lethargic or unresponsive. Maybe she preferred uppers over the downers?

  I regained her attention. “Okay. You had the baby in a grocery store bathroom. Why? What happened to you that day? Why did you give birth there?”

  “Better than the parking lot.”

  Adamski snorted.

  I rephrased. “Why not go to a hospital?”

  Her thinned lips finally broke into a smirk. “Would you believe I didn’t have insurance?”

  “Look, smartass.” Adamski slammed a hand on the table. We both jumped. “Answer the damned questions when we ask them. We’re not wasting any more time on you.”

  Amber cast her eyes downward. She’d responded to loud noises exactly as I’d feared. We’d lose her completely if he didn’t back off.

  I leaned a bit closer, opening myself to her. “Did you know that police and fire stations would take a surrendered baby in, no questions asked?”

  She eyed Adamski, but she shook her head. “Didn’t think she’d last that long.”

  Adamski nodded. “Didn’t think…or hoped?”

  “It would have been better if she’d died. Would have saved us all.”

  The resignation in Amber’s voice frightened me more than the words she spoke. Secrets she had to keep. Lies she forced herself to tell.

  “Okay, so you had the baby, and you left her,” I said. “But then you came back. Why?”

  Amber didn’t answer, and that meant more to me than any excuse she might have given.

  I continued, gently. “We talked to the hospital. They said they’d admitted you in the ER for anaphylactic shock. It was genuine. What did you do?”

  Her shoulders barely sagged. She could do better than that.

  “Come on, Amber. This is important. You knew you couldn’t sneak into the NICU, so you intentionally gave yourself an allergic reaction, right?”

  The words reluctantly dragged from her lips. “A peanut.”

  “Okay. So, you ate some peanuts to go into shock. Then you were treated.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “Don’t you know?”

  Adamski wasn’t as patient as me. “You’re goddamned right we do.”

  I jumped in. “But we don’t know why. I want to hear it from you. I want to understand.”<
br />
  “Why?” Amber clenched her jaw. “No one cares. No one ever wants to help. You just want to throw me in prison.”

  “That’s not true,” I said. “I have a responsibility to protect people. Right now, this interview is about protecting your baby. But I am not giving up on you…especially if you need help too.” I held her gaze, amazed by the strength that still sharpened her hazel eyes. “Do you need help, Amber?”

  A tense moment passed, made unbearable by the frantic clashing of my heart against my chest. The room grew hot. Stale, uncirculated air clutched at our throats. Amber’s hands trembled, and she hid them in her lap.

  Her voice softened, a timid whisper. “I left the ER and went upstairs, to the nursery. I changed into the scrubs and set fire to my clothes.”

  Good. Progress. “Then you went to get the baby?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Did you know she was so sick?”

  Amber swallowed, her brow furrowing hard. The first break in the façade.

  But Adamski spoke before me. “Did you plan to kill her?”

  “What?” Amber hardened, the fractured cracks stitching together tighter than ever. “Fuck you.”

  I waved Adamski away before he made it any worse. “Amber, you were trying to protect the baby, right? Your note said you didn’t want them to take her. Who’s trying to hurt the baby? Is someone threatening you?” Victims seldom answered. I had to push. “Is it your family? The father of your baby? An ex-boyfriend?”

  “The pimp who beat your face in?” Adamski crossed his arms. She flinched. “Did your dealer get pissed? Can’t buy diapers and dope, so you figured you’d take your chances. Get high and off the baby so you didn’t have to deal with it?”

  “Sergeant, goddamn it.” I stood, but it was too late. Amber regressed, hardening her expression into an emotionless mask of secrets and obstruction.

  “You have no idea what I’ve been through…” Her whisper laced with a threat. “No idea what I’ve seen. What’s been done to me. Where I’ve been. You have no right to judge any fucking thing I’ve done to survive, you fat prick. I’m done. I’ll sign your freaking confession. Just get out of my face.”

  I would have shoved him out of the room if it hadn’t meant wasting precious seconds Amber didn’t have. I turned, leaning on the table, practically begging the girl to accept the help I didn’t know if I could give.