Whirlwind

by Rick Mofina

  There were more shelters she needed to check out.

  As the road rolled under her wheels she took stock of the past twenty-four hours, accepting the ebb and flow of a live news story.

  Elements were in constant flux. There was little she could do.

  While waiting for the many calls she’d made—to Frank Rivera, to Jenna Cooper and her sister, Holly— to be returned, she’d arranged for Newslead to obtain Tony Valdez’s dramatic footage of the tornado destroying the Saddle Up Center. The news agency posted it on its site with a warning about disturbing content. The video went viral, pleasing Chuck and New York.

  Late yesterday, Kate had gone to the shelter at the Rivergreen Community Hall to find Jenna Cooper. Volunteers and other tornado survivors had told her that Jenna, Cassie and Holly had left.

  No one knew where they’d gone.

  Kate ended the day feeling somewhat baffled, and last night she got online and talked with her daughter. Filled with guilt, Kate ached to hold Grace as she showed her pictures of birds that she’d drawn.

  “This one’s an owl.”

  “I see. It’s very good, honey.”

  It was this morning, as Kate stepped from the shower, that her phone rang with an overdue call back from Frank.

  She froze, water dripping from her as he brought her up to speed on the horror Jenna and Blake Cooper had endured yesterday in a high school gym.

  “Last night, with the help of Dallas police, the deceased baby’s parents were located and they identified him,” Frank said. “They’re tourists from Switzerland. They were in a park when the storm hit.”

  Tears stung Kate’s eyes.

  “Oh no, that’s so sad.”

  “They’re making arrangements to fly home with him and aren’t talking to the press.”

  “I’m so sorry for them.” Kate searched for a tissue then used her towel. “What about Jenna and her husband? How are they doing? I’d like to interview them.”

  “Not so good. They spent last night in a hotel with Jenna’s sister. I don’t think they’re in a frame of mind to talk to anybody. They were informed that time is running out on the odds of finding their son alive.”

  A moment of silence passed.

  “Okay. Thanks, Frank.”

  “If there’s anything I can do to help, give me a call.”

  After Kate dressed, she went online to search for news and ideas to pursue the story. The updated overall figures for the tornadoes that had hit Texas, Alabama, Arkansas and Mississippi, were sobering. The death toll had risen to seven hundred, most still in the Dallas–Fort Worth Metroplex. The number of reported missing in all the states was now fourteen hundred, most around Dallas. The number of injured had risen to seven thousand people and the estimated number of homes, businesses and properties destroyed was now at least twenty thousand.

  “Stay on the missing baby story,” Chuck told her when she’d called the bureau for her assignment. “New York likes it. It represents the human struggle against the storm. A baby ripped from its mother, a hardworking family holding out hope. It doesn’t end until you find out what happened to their son, Kate.”

  All right, she would keep digging.

  This morning she’d set out determined to continue investigating the chain of events leading up to and after Caleb’s disappearance. Above all, she’d needed to find the people who were closest to Caleb before he vanished.

  It all comes down to those mysterious strangers who tried to help.

  Paging through her notes Kate again zeroed in on the words Jenna had used to describe her encounters with them.

  They’re complete strangers. I never saw them before in my life, but the woman seemed kind of forward, kind of infatuated with Caleb.... Then we saw them in the center, I mean they were just there....

  The Valdez video was intense, but Tony and his mother, Dolores, didn’t recall seeing Jenna and the strangers. Neither did any of the other vendors Kate had reached for help.

  “Most of the people who got out alive just scattered. They left,” Tony Valdez had told Kate. “They went home, or to schools to check on their kids or to other shelters to look for family in other parts of town. It was just chaos.”

  So all morning Kate worked on her story the old-fashioned way.

  With legwork.

  In the back of her mind she continued weighing the possibility that the strangers may have abducted Caleb. But there was no evidence. She’d hit every shelter she could, telling volunteers about Caleb and the woman and man who were last seen near him. She asked them if anything sounded familiar, or whether anything had surfaced that might be linked to them.

  She’d checked out shelters in Hutchins, Lancaster and DeSoto.

  In each case Kate struck out.

  Duncanville was next.

  27

  Duncanville, Texas

  Most of the trees lining James Collins Boulevard had survived the storm.

  As Kate drove by them, she took a hit of water from her bottle, parked, then went into the Duncanville Recreation Center, which was serving as an emergency shelter.

  One more on the list and I’m getting farther and farther away from the flea market. Don’t expect to learn anything here.

  “Hi.” Kate presented her ID to one of the older women at the entrance information table. “Kate Page. I’m a reporter with Newslead.”

  “And how can we help you?” The woman smiled over her bifocals.

  “I’m doing a story on a family searching for their baby who went missing in the storm.”

  “Goodness, there’ve been so many tragedies. Too many.”

  “Would you mind if I walked around, talked to people in the shelter to see if anybody might know something connected to this case?”

  “By all means, if it’ll help.”

  “Thanks. Maybe I could start with you and your people at the table here? I’m guessing you see everybody that comes in for help.”

  “We sure do.”

  Kate reached into her bag for her notebook, recorder and a flyer Frank Rivera’s people had distributed for the Cooper case. She summarized the circumstances of what happened at the Saddle Up Center in the Old Southern Glory Flea Market. As the older woman studied the flyer, she flagged the attention of other nearby volunteers.

  Kate ran through the details on the strangers who’d helped Jenna Cooper. “They were a white couple in their twenties. The woman had short spiky red hair, a low-cut top, jeans and maybe a tattoo below her neck of a butterfly or bird,” she said. “The man was about six feet, muscular build. He had jeans and a T-shirt with a motorcycle or a dog, tattoos on his arms, possibly flames. and stubble. He was kind of soft-spoken.”

  The women started shaking their heads.

  “They might’ve been traveling with the baby,” Kate added, sensing that it was going to be futile.

  “We’ve helped a lot of people with babies,” the woman said, “but I don’t recall anyone fitting those descriptions. But then, my memory isn’t what it used to be.”

  “We had that couple with the baby yesterday morning,” a ponytailed teenage girl standing behind the woman said.

  “That’s right, Mary Jo, and you helped them.”

  “How old was the baby?” Kate asked the teen.

  “Six months, a year,” Mary Jo said. “They said it had a bump on the head from the storm, and I took them to the medical unit. But the woman had dark hair and glasses.”

  “That’s right,” the older woman said, remembering. “They said they were from out of state. The young fella did.”

  Kate bit down on her bottom lip, thinking. “Maybe I’ll talk to the people in the medical unit.”

  “It’s down that way,” Mary Jo said.

  Heading to the area, Kate cast a glance to the
activity in the double gymnasium. The floor was lined with rows of cots for people who’d lost their homes. The medical unit, with its curtained treatment stations and waiting area with folding chairs was not busy when she arrived.

  Kate identified herself to a young woman in her twenties named Maggie Prentice. She was holding a clipboard, and Kate figured her to be a coordinating assistant.

  Kate explained the situation, reciting details by rote.

  “That’s terrible,” Maggie said. “But nothing comes to mind. We’ve treated so many people since we set up here after the storm.”

  “I see. Well, the other volunteers up front had mentioned that a couple came to you yesterday with a baby, six months to a year old for treatment for a bump on the head. Can you tell me anything about them?”

  Maggie unconsciously moved the clipboard in front of her, hugging it, shielding its contents as if they were a secret.

  “We have to respect patient confidentiality, so we really couldn’t tell you anything.”

  “What’s this about?”

  A woman in her thirties wearing a flowered smock, her hair in a bun, and a stethoscope around her neck, emerged, exuding authority and sipping coffee from a mug.

  “I’m Kate Page, a reporter with Newslead.”

  “Dr. Charlene Butler. What is it you’re looking for?”

  Kate launched into another round of explanation, ending it by giving a flyer to the doctor, who studied it for a long moment, convincing Kate that she was actually absorbing the information.

  “We’ve seen nothing that fits this,” Butler said. “Even if we did, we couldn’t disclose patient information. It’s confidential.”

  “I respect that,” Kate said. “I also understand that the Missing Person Emergency Search System is working with shelters, hospitals and search-and-rescue efforts.”

  “Absolutely. We’ve had several cases of dislocated and disoriented patients brought here from other disaster sites and we’ve alerted the Search System folks. It’s resulted in a couple of happy reunions.”

  Kate nodded.

  “Did you talk with the Missing Persons team?” Butler asked. “They’re set up across the floor here.”

  “I will, but could you tell me in generic terms—no names or addresses, that kind of thing—about the baby you treated yesterday and the couple?”

  Butler smiled a warm friendly smile. “You don’t give up, do you?”

  “I guess not. I feel pretty connected to this story.”

  “Okay, let me see.” Butler exhaled and glanced to the ceiling. “Well, in generic terms, not disclosing names, that baby was three months old. A big three months.”

  Kate nodded, taking notes. “And the mother and father?”

  “Twenties, but no red hair on the mom. Dark hair and glasses.”

  “What about the father—any tattoos?”

  “I didn’t see any. Did you, Maggie?”

  Maggie shook her head.

  “Look,” Butler said. “I think this is futile.”

  “Well, I’m just checking,” Kate said. “Are you sure there’s nothing more about them that sticks with you?”

  “No. Well, there was—” She started then stopped. “No.”

  “What is it?”

  “Nothing.”

  “It has to be something.”

  “There was something just a bit off about them.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “First, the baby was big for three months. I would’ve bet he was older.”

  “Like five months?”

  “Could be five, yes.”

  “Anything else?”

  “She said she had him on solids, which I thought odd for a baby that age. And when I asked about how the baby got the little scrape on his head the mother seemed detached, vague, only for a moment.”

  “What do you make of that?”

  “Could’ve been trauma from the storm. We’ve seen a lot of that.”

  Kate thought for a moment. “Do you remember what the baby was wearing when you treated him?”

  “A romper. A white one.”

  “It had stripes,” the younger woman said.

  “Blue?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Kate stared at Maggie, then the doctor, piecing the details together, processing their potential meaning.

  This could be nothing. This could be everything.

  “Can you tell me anything more, about where they’re staying or where they went? I understand they were from out of state.”

  The two women looked at each other.

  “I’m afraid not,” the doctor said. “Confidentiality comes into play. Besides, your case happened in Wildhorse Heights. That’s what, twenty miles from here? What are the odds of the baby coming here with strangers?”

  “I think they left the baby’s romper here,” the younger woman said.

  “What do you mean, they left it?” Kate asked. “Left it where?”

  Maggie nodded to an area across the floor.

  “After they were done with us, they went to the section where people had donated clothes. I walked behind them to get a tea on my break.”

  “What did they do with the romper?”

  “I think they tossed it and took some donated clothes for the baby. It had bloodstains on it, right, Doctor?”

  “Bloodstains?” Kate asked.

  “Very tiny, from the scrape on the head,” Butler said. “The baby must have touched his head then himself.”

  “Show me where they left the romper. I need to find it.”

  Maggie led Kate and Butler to the tables against the wall that were topped with heaps of children’s clothes in boxes, plastic baskets and tubs. She took them to the area marked Baby 0-12 Months.

  “I’m pretty sure I saw them leave it here yesterday and select some new clothes, but then I walked by fast.”

  Kate began sifting through the containers starting with the first one at the end of the row. When she saw that Maggie and Butler had joined her, she repeated the details.

  “It would be a white romper with blue stripes and a little elephant on it. The details are in the flyer.”

  In all, Kate estimated about twenty containers each the size of a laundry basket. Guided by the romper’s colors they went through them all quickly.

  Their search yielded nothing.

  Kate absorbed the setback and was in the process of thanking Butler and Maggie for their help when a weary-looking woman hefted a tub from the table.

  “Excuse me. Are all the donated clothes kept here?” Kate asked.

  “No, we have another table along that wall there for laundry. It takes time but we wash them all first. See that line of baskets?” The woman gestured and Kate saw six hampers.

  “Yes.”

  “Those have not been washed yet. Did you need to go through them?”

  “Yes.” Kate and the others rushed to the table.

  Butler saw it first—a blue-and-white pattern bulging from the first basket’s lower ribbing. Carefully, she extracted a balled romper, unfurled it and held it up. It was white with blue stripes and had a little elephant on it. She looked at the tiny browned bloodstains.

  “This is it,” she said.

  Kate’s pulse quickened. She pulled her phone from her bag.

  “I need to make some calls. No, wait. First I need to take a picture of this romper and send it to someone. Could you please hold it up again, Doctor?”

  28

  Duncanville, Texas

  Jenna Cooper pressed the baby’s romper to her cheek and wept.

  She ran her fingers tenderly over the soft cotton fabric, studying the blue-and-white stripes before she drew it back to her face and breat
hed in her baby’s sweet smell.

  “This belongs to my son. This is Caleb’s.”

  A circle of solemn faces watched her in silence.

  Jenna had been shaking since Holly’s phone rang forty-five minutes ago with a call from some official who was helping find people missing in the storm. Jenna and Blake were staying with Holly and Garrett at the Embassy Suites nearest the flea market. Jenna first thought that the call was from Holly’s family in Atlanta but then Holly said, “No, Jenna’s cell phone was lost in the storm. She has a new number and left mine for— Yes, I’m her sister and I’m with her.”

  Holly listened then put her hand over the phone and told Jenna, “They found something that might belong to Caleb at a shelter and they need you there to identify it.”

  Garrett must’ve set a record getting them to Duncanville, using the GPS and with Blake directing him. As their rental SUV roared across the city, Jenna held Holly’s hand. In the wake of what they’d experienced in the high school gym the previous night, Jenna struggled not to get her hopes up and prayed to heaven for good news.

  Now she was standing here in the shelter, grappling with the fact that Caleb may have been here in this spot where she was holding the last thing he’d worn before she lost him. Her mind swirled with questions.

  “Where is he? Is he hurt?”

  “Jenna?” a man in the circle said.

  “How come no one held him for me?” she continued. “Where is he?”

  “Jenna, I’m Frank Rivera with the Missing Person Emergency Search System. We’re helping police find people who’re missing or displaced because of the storm.”

  Numb, Jenna stared at Rivera as he nodded to two uniformed police officers.

  “This is Officer Soria and Officer Burns with the Duncanville Police Department. Dr. Charlene Butler is with the medical unit here at the shelter and I believe you know Kate Page with Newslead?”

  Jenna offered Kate a weak smile.

  For the next several moments, Rivera gave Jenna and Blake a summary of what had transpired at the shelter—how a couple brought in a baby, how Dr. Butler examined him before the couple left, and how the case led to the discovery of the romper.