The Stolen (2008)
Page 15
Bob turned to Elaine, still holding the needle. “Where
did we give it to her this morning?”
“The abdomen,” she said.
“Gotcha. Caroline, would you come here?” The girl
stood up warily, then went over to Bob. “Here, sweetie, sit
down next to me.”
She did. Bob rolled up the sleeve of her right arm, then
took the smelly cotton ball and rubbed it all over the underside of her arm. Then he blew on it gently.
“That tickles,” the girl said.
“Just needs to dry a bit,” Bob said. He waited a minute,
then took her arm and gently squeezed her skin until a fold
stuck out. Caroline winced a bit but stayed still.
“Good girl,” Elaine said.
“Now close your eyes,” Bob said. When she did, she
felt a sting as the needle entered her skin. She felt Bob’s
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grip tighten, then a few seconds later it eased up. She
opened her eyes. The needle was on the table and Bob was
swabbing her arm with another cotton ball.
“You’re such a brave girl,” Elaine said. Caroline smiled.
18
The rental car zipped along like only a Hyundai with a
hundred-and-twenty-five thousand miles could. Now that
I’d been summarily dismissed from the Daniel Linwood
story by Wallace, I couldn’t expect to be reimbursed for
expenses anytime soon. Which meant watching my budget
until I proved that it was worth potentially disrupting the
lives of several families, not to mention putting my career
on the line, to find out what happened to two missing
children. Which meant that, for the time being, the $44.95a-day rates of the Rent-a-Wreck of Yonkers was the only
thing that could fit my ever-extended budget.
As soon as I realized that both Michelle Oliveira and
Daniel Linwood not only were born in the same hospital,
but were treated by the same doctor, I decided to speak to
this man to see what, if anything, he could shed light on.
Dr. Dmitri Petrovsky worked in the pediatrics unit at the
Yardley Medical Center in Hobbs County. Amanda and I
were on our way to speak to the good doctor. Like good
guests we were coming uninvited.
As I drove up I-287, Amanda gripped the side door
handle as though the car might split in half at any moment.
Ironic, considering a few years back Amanda had driven
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us to St. Louis at an average speed that would make Jeff
Gordon cry for mama.
I noticed her clutching the side, smirked and said,
“Come on, you really think I’m going to spin out or
drive us both into the Hudson? Besides, between the
two of us, who do you think has racked up more points
on their license?”
She glared at me. “I’ve never had an accident in all the
time I’ve been driving. And I’ve been in a car with you,
oh, a total of, like, three times. Forgive me if I don’t quite
trust your instincts. Not to mention my Toyota was sturdier
than the Verrazano bridge.”
“I have such fond memories of that car.”
Though Amanda and I had now been on speaking terms
for just a few days, I was surprised at how easily we fell
back into old patterns, the give-and-take of conversation. I
was actually uncomfortable with it. Specifically, the fact
that she seemed so calm. As if she knew our banter was
nothing more than that, and would never get past the
surface.
Two young children, both vanishing into nothing, reappearing after years, neither with any memory of their time
gone. Both having been born in the same town, to lowincome families with other siblings. I had no idea exactly
what we were looking for, or what I expected to find, but I
hoped that Dmitri Petrovsky, having borne witness to the
birth of both Michelle and Danny, could yield new information.
We arrived at Yardley Medical Center a little after nine
in the morning.
We stepped out of the Hyundai. It was warm outside,
the sun hot and vivid. I was wearing a pair of brown
khakis and a navy-blue sport coat. Amanda was in a
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sweater and light blue jeans. She looked a millions times
better than I did, which wasn’t surprising, since I had to
dig through a pile of unmentionables just to find two
matching socks.
The Yardley Medical Center was a long building,
twelve stories high, shaped like an L, with one taller side
made of red brick, the other, shorter part windowed by
steel and blue glass. We walked around to the main
entrance, passing ambulatory care, and entered. The lobby
was not large, but it was impeccably clean. Off to the side
was a flower shop, a newsstand and a small cafeteria, and
another path leading to a bank of elevators. In the middle
was an information desk and security checkpoint. Half a
dozen people were in line. When they finished talking to
the attendant, she handed them a sticker to show Security,
who let them enter the elevator bank.
We walked up to the information booth. The attendant,
a heavyset black woman, said, “May I help you?”
“We’re here to see Dr. Dmitri Petrovsky in Pediatrics,”
I said.
“Your names?”
“Henry Parker and Amanda Davies.”
“Do you have identification?”
We both handed over our drivers licenses. I didn’t want
to announce myself as a member of the press just yet. In
case Petrovsky knew anything, I didn’t want to give him
time to prepare.
The woman looked at our IDs, then at us, then handed
them back. She scribbled our names on two orange
stickers, then signed each one before peeling them off and
pressing them against our shirts.
“Petrovsky, Pediatrics. Suite 1103.”
We thanked her, showed the stickers to the guard and
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rode the elevator to the eleventh floor. The elevator was
jam-packed, and the ride took forever. Finally we got off
on eleven and followed the signs to the correct suite.
The eleventh-floor hallway was painted light blue. Very
soothing. When we found 1103, a door marked Pediatrics,
we paused for a moment, then entered.
We found ourselves in a waiting room littered with toys
and parenting magazines. Various brochures were available. There were about a dozen chairs, almost all of which
were filled with mothers, fathers and their tykes. I counted
three pregnant women. Some of the kids were playing,
some sleeping, and at least two were bawling their eyes
out. Amanda took a seat, picked up a copy of Parenting
magazine, and nodded toward the secretary.
“Would you mind signing us in, hon?”
“My pleasure, hon. ”
I approached the secretary, a middle-aged woman with
frizzy hair and a pair of red glasses perched on her nose.
“Help you?” she said.
“I’m here to see Dr. Petrovsky,” I said.
“Do y
ou have an appointment?”
“No, I’m sorry, we don’t.”
She swiveled to a computer, pressed a few keys, then
swiveled back. “He can see you today, but not likely until
eleven-thirty.” She handed me a clipboard with several
forms on it. “If you and your wife would please fill these
out and return it back to me.”
I opened my mouth to explain the whole not wife thing,
but didn’t think it was worth the time or explanation.
I took the papers and a pen, sat down next to Amanda.
“If anyone asks, you’re my wife.”
“’Scuse me?”
“Just go with it.”
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“Come on, Henry, these kind of matrimonial decisions
should be made by both of us for Christ’s sake.”
A lady holding her infant son glared at us.
“Sorry,” I said, turning to Amanda. “Honey, there are
children present.”
Amanda gave me a look that could have melted steel.
I concentrated on filling out the forms, being as vague as
possible, while leaving most responses blank.
When they were completed, I went back up to the receptionist. Handing them over, I said, “I left a lot of this
blank. Frankly, there are some personal issues I’d rather
discuss with Dr. Petrovsky first, if you don’t mind.”
The woman rolled her eyes at me, said, “Suit yourself,”
and took the papers. When I returned to Amanda, she was
buried in a copy of Parenting magazine.
“Wow,” Amanda said, eyebrows raised. “Did you know
that the World Health Organization recommends breastfeeding your child until they’re at least two years old, and
sometimes until they’re four?”
“Why not?” I said. “Nothing brings a mother and her
child closer than reading, writing and breast-feeding.”
Amanda snorted a laugh, causing the other mothers to
sneer at her in unison. She went back to reading the
magazine. I did a cursory search through the reading
material available. Since I had no aching desire to sift
through a Learning Annex pamphlet or a four-month-old
issue of Cosmopolitan, I just sat there and waited.
Finally after a two-hour wait, the receptionist called,
“Mr. and Mrs. Parker.”
I looked at Amanda, her face suddenly nervous. We
stood up and followed the receptionist down a woodpaneled hallway into an examination room.
“Dr. Petrovsky will be with you in just a moment.”
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When she left, I turned to Amanda and said, “Here
we go.”
“You really think this guy knows anything about Danny
and Michelle?”
“That’s why we’re here,” I said. “I just want something
to prove to Wallace this story deserves looking into, regardless of what some stuffed shirt says.”
We sat there waiting for fifteen minutes. I looked around
the room. Nothing out of place, and because we were in a
simple examining room rather than Petrovsky’s office, it
prevented me from snooping around his framed degrees.
Then the door opened, and a fifty-something barrelchested man walked in. He was about five-ten with a thick
gray beard and a white coat that barely concealed his protruding midsection. Beneath the beard his cheeks were
slightly red. He walked with a slight limp. I guessed he’d
undergone a hip or knee replacement surgery recently.
“Mr. and Mrs. Parker, I am Dr. Dmitri Petrovsky.” He
spoke with a thick Russian accent. I took his extended
hand, as did Amanda.
“Thanks for seeing us on such short notice,” I said.
“It is my pleasure. Now, if you will do me one more,
please, have a seat.” Amanda sat down on a small metal
chair. Petrovsky laughed. “No, not there. Here.”
Petrovsky approached the examining table. He reached
underneath, fiddled around for a few seconds, and then
pulled up a pair up stirrups which he latched into place.
He then slapped the green cushion and said, “Mrs. Parker,
if you please.”
He put his palms together and then opened them as if
he were reading a book.
Amanda’s eyes went wide. “Oh, hell no. Henry, this is
where I get off the train. Good luck.”
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“Mrs. Parker?” Petrovsky said. He turned to me. “I do
not understand. This is a routine part of a first examination.”
Time to come clean. Or at least cleaner.
“Dr. Petrovsky, my name is Henry Parker, and I’m a
reporter with the New York Gazette. Now, first off, I want
you to know that I’m here in the best interests of two
children. All I want to do is ask you a few questions. We
don’t want to make any trouble, I promise. And I would
appreciate your complete candor. It’s vital in our investigation.”
“Investigation?” Petrovsky’s eyes were frightened,
but I couldn’t tell if it was from the surprise or something
else. “Please, I do not understand. You lied to Maggie at
reception?”
“Not exactly, Doctor. I just needed to speak with you. If
after we talk you think my motives aren’t genuine, you can
do what you want. But please, just hear me out. I mean well.”
Petrovsky folded his arms. I took that to mean he was
listening.
“I’m investigating the disappearance of Daniel Linwood,”
I said. “The records show that Daniel Linwood was born in
this hospital, and that you were the attending during the
birth. In conjunction with Daniel Linwood, we’re investigating a similar disappearance, a girl named Michelle Oliveira.
Michelle also was born here, under your supervision.
“Daniel Linwood,” Petrovsky said, his eyes yielding a
glimmer of recognition. “The name does sound familiar,
yes. What has happened that you are investigating?”
This surprised me a little. The Linwood disappearance
was major news in Hobbs County. Petrovsky had worked
here dating back years. Either his memory had slipped, or
he was being obstinate for a reason.
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“A week ago, Daniel Linwood returned to his family
after being kidnapped nearly five years ago. I’m looking
into who kidnapped him and why.”
“But you say Daniel was found, yes? He is with his
family?”
“Yes, he is.”
“Then all should be happy, no?”
“Not if you want a sense of justice. And I think Daniel’s
disappearance is related in some way to Michelle Oliveira.
You know both children were born at Yardley,” I said.
“And they’re both from Hobbs County.”
“I did not know this, and I do not know this Michelle
person you speak of.”
Petrovsky reached into his pocket and took out a handkerchief, mopping a few beads from his brow. He put it back
in, laughed slightly, then held his hands to his stomach.
“My wife,” he said. “Says I should lose about fifty
pounds to stay healthy. Perhaps, she says, this is the reason
I have a titanium knee. I think she
may be right, but she
cannot tell me how to lose that weight.”
“Doctor,” I said, “Daniel Linwood has no recollection
of his missing years. I need to know what could happen
to a child that could do that to their brain, to their memory.
If you know anything about Daniel, or what happened, that
could explain it.”
“Please, Mr. Parker, I am just here to do my job. I have
delivered many hundreds of children in my career, and
now you ask me to remember two as if they were delivered this morning? You have lied to me, and now you
expect me to answer you like a man at a cocktail party who
has medical questions? If you have medical questions, I
would be happy to refer you to another physician in this
clinic. Or if you prefer to continue down this path, I would
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be happy to refer you to hospital security, who will refer
you to a good lawyer. That is all I have to say. Now I
suggest you leave. Right away.”
The look Petrovsky gave us confirmed that he was not
bluffing. I had no intention of calling his bluff. I merely
thanked him for his time, apologized again for the ruse,
and we left.
We exited Yardley in silence. When we got to the
parking lot, Amanda said, “Goddamn, that guy knows
something.”
I nodded, picked up the pace and headed toward our
Hyundai, hoping a strong wind hadn’t caused it to blow
away.
“I agree,” I said. “He’d heard the name Michelle
Oliveira before. And I don’t buy that he didn’t know about
Danny Linwood.” I stood in front of our car, thinking
about what to do next.
“Think we should head back?” Amanda asked.
“No,” I said.
“Why not?”
“I’m going to wait for him. Petrovsky. I’m going to
follow him when he gets off work and see where he goes.
If necessary, confront him off hospital grounds. Where
there’s no security, nobody but us.”
Amanda sighed.
“The least you could have done was tell me that
upstairs. I would have grabbed a magazine from the
waiting room.”
She smiled at me, and we both piled into the car,
waiting for the good doctor to emerge.
19
The phone call was not unexpected, but it rattled
Raymond Benjamin nonetheless. He’d been sitting in his
loft, sipping a glass of pinot noir, from the Argyle wineries,
2005 vintage. There were few things that beat a glass of