Taking a last glance around the room, her eyes came upon a digital video camera that was sitting atop a tripod, partially hidden in a corner. Jean shook her head in disgust as she walked out, leaving the collecting of the evidence to the technicians. She knew, eventually, she would have to watch whatever was on the camera, but right now she couldn’t stomach the thought of what it would reveal.
“How about the victim they transported to the hospital? Did he talk at all?” She questioned Officer Thyme as she turned her thoughts and attention back to the adult victims.
“No, he was unconscious when they found him and barely alive, Detective. He has no identification on him, but there are two vehicles out back. A Ford Focus registered to this clown on the floor; and the other one, a late model Chevy truck with a beat up topper over the bed. Engine was still kind of warm. It looks like someone was living in it. Maybe two. We also found some child-sized clothes in the back. Oregon plates. We’re running them now.”
Shaking her head, Jean looked at her watch.
“Anything else?”
“Yeah, there’s an old laptop and some maps and trash from some fast food joints. It’s all been bagged and catalogued.”
She glanced at her watch.
“Shit, I have to be in court this afternoon. I’m going to head over to the hospital first, maybe this guy will regain consciousness, or maybe those kids will tell us what happened. We need to find that other weapon; and the person, or persons, that took off with it.”
“Help these guys finish up here,” She instructed Justin. Then under her breath, but loud enough for several bystanders to hear, “Damn it, what the hell happened here?” she asked, as she left the warmth of the cabin and walked outside into the chillier elements. Getting into her unmarked vehicle, she glanced back at the cabin in the woods, with a gnawing ache in her stomach, and headed to St. Katherine’s, where she hoped she would get some answers.
For the third time in the past hour, Hope felt her cellphone vibrate. She pulled it out with annoyance, assuming she knew who was being so persistent in trying to get in touch with her.
She knew her mother was feeling guilty because she was unable to be there for the Keal family. She had been calling for updates every chance she got, as she made her way down to the Port of Miami. Angry, as she was unable to cancel her cruise to the Bahamas, the woman was just as concerned as everyone else how the Captain was doing; but her mother’s constant need for medical updates on her daughter’s future father-in-law was driving Hope crazy. Hope didn’t bother to look at the caller ID when she grabbed her phone out of her purse and began to lecture her mother on her unrelenting insistence. She looked up at Marty apologetically and walked over to the other side of the room. Raising the phone to her ear, she looked out through the artwork the children left in the condensation, which formed on the window facing the parking lot below.
“Mom, I told you I would call you as soon as we knew something!”
Her embarrassment was tenfold, when she heard her supervisor interrupt the beginning of her rant.
“Hope, this is Judy. I know it’s your day off, and you are involved in a personal matter, but Sophie Harris of Children’s Services called. They are bringing two minors into St. Katherine’s for treatment and observation and since you are already there . . . .”
Hope’s concentration was interrupted and she no longer heard what Judy was saying, because her attention was now drawn to the commotion outside the waiting room. Turning around, it suddenly dawned on her she was alone. The room, that moments earlier was packed full of Keals, had emptied out.
“I’m sorry, Judy, what did you say?” she asked, as she moved closer to the fracas, unsuccessfully trying to catch a glimpse of what was happening on the other side of the wall of Keals that now blocked the doorway.
Judy then did something she rarely did, she repeated herself. “Sophie Harris from Children Services called. She’s in the Emergency Room; they have a situation down there. Can you just meet her down there? She’ll fill you in.”
Giving no more explanation, and barely waiting for Hope to agree, she heard her supervisor disconnect the call.
Hope broke through the human barricade just as she watched Marty handing what looked like an unconscious child over to one of the male nurses.
“Marty?” she looked at him, concerned by the expression on his face. Her first thought was something happened with the Captain while she was distracted by the phone call, but that didn’t make any sense. She followed his eyes and watched him as the child was taken away. It was then she became aware of the presence of Jean Whitley, her friend and Marty’s partner, who was standing there a few feet away.
“What’s going on?” Hope asked, turning her attention to Jean.
“Hope! Good, I was hoping you were here. I have to get down to the Emergency Room and we need you desperately,” Jean said, nervously glancing at her wristwatch. “Can you meet me down there?” Jean managed to ask as she ran back to catch the elevator. She disappeared behind the crowd of bystanders and once again Hope was left bewildered before she could adequately give an answer.
Just as Hope was trying to piece together what was happening, her cellphone vibrated again. Glancing down at the display, she grimaced when she recognized the familiar number on the screen. She had no time to have a conversation with her mother now. She hastily handed the phone to Marty.
“Here, you talk to her, tell her the Captain is fine, and I will call her later.” She walked away, giving him an apologetic look as she tried to catch up with Jean.
It was too late. The doors to the elevator Jean occupied a moment earlier were closed and the transport system was already making its way down to the lower level. Cussing under her breath, she punched the down button. She was contemplating using the stairwell when the other elevator arrived and the doors opened. Several people departed and Hope was relieved the car was now empty. She got in and pushed the 1 button for the lobby, the Emergency Room was on the same level as the lobby, but on the other side of the building. Hurrying to her destination, Hope heard the voices of medical personnel become louder and more frantic in nature. She found Jean standing off to the side talking to a man in a fluorescent orange vest. She waited patiently until Jean finished with the man before she approached her friend, the detective.
“Jean, what’s going on? My supervisor just called asking me to meet Sophie Harris down here. Is this connected?”
Someone shouted to clear a path, and they both stepped back, as men and women pushed a gurney through the crowd. Hope caught a glimpse of the person who lay on the bed but quickly turned away when she saw how much blood saturated the linen covering him or her.
“Come on, I’ll fill you in,” Jean said, as she grabbed Hope by the crook of her arm. “We are still trying to sort everything out, but this is why we need you,” the detective told her, as she pulled open the curtain to one of the cubicles in the room. At first, the only person Hope recognized was the dark-haired social worker, Sophie. She was whispering softly to someone, but at the angle Hope was standing, she was unable to see who it was. When Sophie became aware someone new entered the room, she turned around; and Hope saw the relieved look on the young woman’s face when she realized it was her. The women were familiar with each other, having worked together on previous cases occasionally.
A small female child was sitting upright. The little girl was dressed only in a bikini style panty. Her knobby knees were bent and thin legs dangled from the examination table. Her long, dark hair was matted and dirty. Black tears, the result of mascara painted on her eyelids, streaked down both sides of her face. The little girl’s lips were painted bright red, and the bottom one was trembling uncontrollably. She was holding onto a white stuffed teddy bear, given to her by one of the officers at the scene, and she hugged it tightly to her chest.
Hope pulled over a rolling stool and placed herself in front of the little girl.
“Hi, honey, my name is Dr. Hope.” She was careful not
to reach out and touch the frightened child, but gave her a warm smile.
The girl didn’t respond verbally, but slowly let go of the bear with one tiny hand and gently caressed Hope’s hair. Hope took it as a signal the child would allow her to reciprocate; so, without hesitating, she grabbed a tissue and gently dried the child’s tear running down her left cheek.
“What’s your name, honey?” Hope asked, her tone soft as cotton.
The child’s mouth opened, and it appeared she was about to speak, and then she immediately clamped her lips shut as she became aware of some sort of commotion outside the examining room.
“Get me the rape kit and make it fast, I’ve got a ballgame to go to.”
Hope recognized his voice immediately and was not pleased when he abruptly pulled the curtain back and entered the room.
Hope knew Dr. Lewis was an arrogant son of a bitch and not very well liked by most of the staff at the hospital. The man’s over-developed physique often had the staff wondering if he was dabbling in the illegal use of steroids. Dr. Lewis was not someone Hope had a very harmonious relationship with. She had butted heads with the Emergency Room doctor on several occasions; and she could visualize that this situation was likely to bring more of the same.
He manipulated his way past Sophie and Jean, but stopped short at pushing Hope out of his way.
“Excuse me, Dr. Rubin; I have an exam to do.” He told her, taking care to avert her eyes. Careful to avoid touching her as he walked past, he pulled his stethoscope from around his thick neck.
Hope laid her hand on his left forearm.
“Paul, may I see you outside, please?” She turned back to the child. “Sweetheart, I will be right back.” Reading absolute fear in the little girl’s eyes, she smiled warmly. Hope laid the palm of her hand on the child’s wet cheek. Still stiff with fear, the little girl kept her eyes focused on Hope and clutched the stuffed animal tighter.
In an effort to convince the child that she would be safe and okay, she sat back down and continued to speak in the soft tone. “Sophie is going to stay with you, honey. You will be fine. I promise.” Hope told her, as she stood up and relinquished her stool to Sophie. It broke her heart to walk out, but she knew that she had to make sure this child was not going to deal with any more trauma than she had already been subjected to, even if it was from one of her colleagues.
Realizing that Dr. Lewis wasn’t taking her cue, and made no attempt to move, she tugged at his arm. “Now! Paul.”
As soon as they were outside of the cubicle, she let go of his arm. “That child is not ready for a physical exam, much less a gynecological one.” She was thinking to herself there was no way she was going to let any man come near the child in such an intimate way, even if it was another physician, but she didn’t verbalize that thought.
“She needs to be emotionally stabilized and prepared for what is going to happen.”
Hope was determined to relax and sound diplomatic; she made a conscious effort not to allow her personal attitude toward the man to seep into her argument.
He started to verbalize his protest. “Look, I don’t have all day. She may never be ready, so you can do your job and take care of her after I finish doing what I have to do.”
She was no longer paying attention to what her colleague was saying. There was some sort of commotion going on several feet away and she lost her focus.
Out of the corner of her eye, she witnessed Jean animatedly talking to another uniformed officer. They were looking down at what appeared to be some sort of flyer. Hope watched as Jean grabbed the paper from the officer’s hands and briskly walked back in Hope’s direction.
Turning back to her associate, Hope took two steps closer to the muscularly-constructed Dr. Lewis and decided she didn’t have time for this. She was now deep in his personal space and was not about to back off or let him think that his size intimidated her. The big man just shook his head, and didn’t move.
“Look, Dr. Rubin, I need to be somewhere in . . .” he glanced down at the gold Rolex that accented his thick wrist. Hope immediately knew there was no way she was going to let this particular man, physician or not, with his large, unfriendly hands and his cartoon-like Popeye muscles, come within one inch of that child’s body. She wasn’t going to admit it or show it, but even she was intimidated by the size of him. She couldn’t imagine how the fragile little girl would feel. He continued, “. . . in forty five minutes. I promised my kid I wouldn’t miss his soccer game.”
She knew he was trying to sound sympathetic and was making a feeble attempt to put her on a guilt trip, playing the ‘good daddy’ card, but she wasn’t going to bend.
“Paul, go to your game. I will get Doctor Lercher to come in and examine her. I need more time to prepare this child for such an invasive exam and we’re wasting time, so excuse me.” She pushed past him intentionally, allowing her arm to brush against his arm, in a display of aggression. She let out a sigh of relief when she didn’t hear his footsteps following behind her, which meant he wasn’t going to argue with her. She reached the child’s cubicle at precisely the same time as Detective Whitley.
Lifting the flyer, and waving it in the air, Jean handed it to Hope. Taking a good look at the paper, Hope nodded her head and then both women walked into the cubicle where the little girl waited.
Sophie was holding the little girl’s hand, and another nurse was wiping the child’s face with a sterile gauze pad. She carefully maneuvered around the little girl, who was now feverishly sucking on her thumb. The black makeup that had previously made its way down her cheeks was practically gone. The red lipstick was now a pale shade of pink. The nurse, under the watchful eye of a police officer, took the pad and placed it in an evidence bag.
Jean turned to Sophie. “Has she said anything?”
The social worker shook her head no.
Hope pulled over the rolling stool and sat down in front of the tiny child. She took another cloth from the nurse and continued to gently wipe the child’s face.
“Can you tell me your name, honey?” The little girl sat there staring, sucking softly on her thumb.
Hope glanced over at the flyer she held in her hand from THE CENTER OF MISSING AND EXPLOITED CHILDREN.
Missing from Astoria, Queens, New York.
Age 5, Michaelah Sandberg.
Last seen on Dec 21, 2013 playing in front of her home.
“Michaelah?” Is your name Michaelah?” Hope asked.
Immediately, recognizing her own name, the little girl’s big brown eyes opened wide, and she removed the thumb from her mouth. “I want my mommy.”
Hope gave the child a broad smile as she tried, unsuccessfully, to keep a tear from creeping out of the corner of her own eye.
“Honey, we are going to get your mommy. Okay? We are going to call your mommy right now, and tell her you are safe, and you are waiting for her. Okay?” The little girl cautiously nodded her head; her eyes looking deep into Hope’s as if she were wondering if she could believe, or even trust, what this woman was telling her.
Suddenly, the mood inside and outside of the room changed. Shouts of excitement and news of the child’s identity was being broadcast throughout the building. The story of the found child was being passed on from one person to another, like the childhood game of telephone. News that Michaelah Sandberg, the little girl from Queens, who had vanished four months ago, had been found; and she was safe and alive and right here in this very hospital! What was previously a somber atmosphere suddenly became celebratory with shouts of “Thank God,” accompanied by backslapping and other expressions of joy and wonder.
Cellphone keyboards were being tapped and the news of the child’s safety was rapidly spreading through the building and social media, as arrangements were being made to notify the parents and have them brought to the hospital. Law enforcement and medical personnel hoped they were able to notify the parents before they heard of the discovery on twitter or television.
After spending some tim
e with little Michaelah, Hope felt confident enough the child would be able to deal with an extensive physical exam and interview. Standing by her side and holding the child’s hand, she stayed with her as she went through a thorough physical examination by Dr. Lewis’ replacement: Dr. Cheryl Lercher, whose quiet demeanor and soft velvet voice was a much less intimidating presence than the gruff Dr. Lewis. It broke her heart to have to put the little girl through the invasive procedure; but there was no other choice in the matter, and she was content to know it was Dr. Lercher who would administer the exam. Hope stayed by Michaelah’s side and would not leave the room until the little girl was reunited with her parents.
With a minute to spare, Jean got to the courthouse just in time. Just as she was about to sit down, a court officer came in to tell her court had been cancelled and her testimony wasn’t needed after all. The judge had a few personal matters to attend to, and they would let her know when it would be rescheduled to.
She couldn’t decide whether she was relieved or furious, but she immediately headed back to the hospital. She thought about stopping off at home and getting a change of wardrobe, but decided against it. She envisioned the little girl’s face; and the little boy’s screams were still vivid in her mind. On the route back to the hospital, she drove with the frustration that she couldn’t be there the moment Michaelah and her parents were reunited. With all the madness she had to deal with in her line of work, something like that would have made it all worthwhile. What she didn’t know was there was a delay in reuniting the family, and she got off the elevator just as Michaelah’s parents arrived at the hospital. Officials were successful at decoying the media and Mr. and Mrs. Sandberg were consequently whisked through the sub-basement of the hospital and brought to the child’s room, via the service elevator, completely unaware they were passing less than ten feet from the morgue where the little girl’s presumed abductor laid dead on a cold steel table. Jean got to the Emergency Room just in time to witness Hope’s initial meeting with Mr. and Mrs. Sandberg. Without going into too many details, the child psychiatrist was warning them that Michaelah had been severely traumatized and may have an adverse reaction to their visit.
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