Line of Fire

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  Shannon checked his watch. “Seven-thirty. They’ll have eaten dinner hours ago. Might already be asleep.”

  “They’re old, not infants. Besides, this is important. We’ll wake her up if we have to. Better have the badge ready.”

  We walked briskly up the path and into the building. A blonde receptionist barely out of her teens looked up from a book as we entered.

  “May I help you?” she called, as we shook snowflakes from our heads.

  “Chemistry,” she said with a grimace as she saw me glance at her book. “I should have taken physics instead.”

  I nodded sympathetically, while Shannon said, “We’re here to see Maureen Quincy.”

  “Are you family?”

  Shannon took out his badge. “I’m investigating the case of a missing child. We believe Mrs. Quincy may have information.”

  The girl’s blue eyes gleamed. “Cool. You’re the second ones who wanted to see her today. Right after dinner, the FBI came. Is it because of that girl from Hayesville who’s been on the news?”

  We nodded.

  “I’ll call the orderly and have them show you to her room. I wish I could go myself, but I have to watch the desk.” She frowned, the idea apparently making her depressed. She picked up the phone. “Anyway, I don’t know what Maureen can tell you. She never leaves here, and she’s never had any visitors except the FBI today. She did tell me once that she had a daughter who died.”

  “We’re hoping she can direct us to someone she knew a long time ago,” I said, taking pity on the girl’s curiosity.

  She grinned. “Maureen knew a lot of people. She lived on the street most of her life.” She shivered and rubbed the sleeves of her green sweater. “Don’t know how she did that on nights like this.”

  My wonder was how Maureen had raised a child on the streets.

  The orderly was a short, wiry old man with bright green eyes and hair shaved to a half inch all over his head. “What’s this about?” he asked, when Shannon flashed his badge. “Maureen’s sleeping.”

  “We’ll have to wake her,” I said. “We’re looking for a lost child.”

  “I see.” The green eyes showed wariness. “You won’t upset her, will you?”

  What an odd thing to say. “Why do you ask? Did the agent from the FBI upset her?”

  “I wasn’t on shift yet when they came, but the last guy who came to visit asked questions about a baby, and she got upset. Cried for hours after he left.”

  Shannon stopped dead in the hallway. “When was this?”

  “A couple months ago. I brought him here and waited in the hall to make sure it was okay. I didn’t like his eyes. He yelled at her, asking about a baby. She kept telling him her baby died, crying and screaming. It was awful. I made him leave.”

  I gave Shannon a meaningful glance. The man had to be Jenny’s birth father. “What did he look like?”

  “Thin like me, average height, blond hair that curled at the ends.” He looked up at Shannon. “Lot like yours, only more blond. His eyes were light blue, washed out. Narrow face. Kind of shifty, if you ask me.”

  Shannon nodded. “Did he have any distinguishing marks or tattoos? Anything that made him stand out?”

  “He was wearing a coat, so I could only see his face, but it didn’t have any marks. He seemed to know Maureen well. She knew him, too, so she probably knew him from a long time ago. She doesn’t even remember what she ate for dinner these days.”

  “If you sat down with a sketch artist, do you think you could help us draw a likeness?” Shannon brought out his phone.

  The orderly shrugged. “I doubt it. It’s been two months. But I’m willing to try. Can’t leave work, though, so it’ll have to be after my shift.”

  “I can probably have someone come here.” Shannon took down his information. “Did he or Mrs. Quincy say anything else?”

  “Not that I heard, but I was down the hall for part of his visit. I wish I hadn’t left her at all.” His words were a pointed reminder about not upsetting the woman.

  We continued to Maureen’s room where the orderly knocked on the door. “Maureen?”

  “Come in,” came a groggy voice.

  He opened the door, but the room inside was dark. “Sorry for disturbing you, but you have some visitors.”

  “Oh?” Her voice was suddenly wide awake, and we heard someone moving. “Well, send them in.”

  The orderly flipped on the light, revealing a scrawny woman dressed in pink flannel pajamas. She was sitting up in bed, her thin white hair awry.

  “I’ll be out in the hall, doing my rounds,” the orderly told us. More likely, he’d be right outside the door, after what happened the last time. I was glad she had him for a defender.

  A lifetime of living on the streets—of too little food and too much drink—had not been kind to Maureen. She was a curled, wizened creature with heavy wrinkles that made her look far older than the sixty-five years she could claim. Her deepset eyes were the only thing that still seemed to work properly, rolling back and forth between me and Shannon. Their bright blue color reminded me of Jenny’s baby picture.

  She finally settled on me as being the least intimidating. “Do I know you?”

  “No,” I said.

  Maureen looked relieved.

  I walked closer to the bed. “We’re looking for someone.”

  “Who?” The eyes now had a shuttered look. She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them.

  Given the orderly’s story, maybe I should start with something simple before asking directly about her daughter. “A shaman woman. A midwife. When you knew her, she would have had dark hair, olive skin, dark eyes. Wore a lot of jewelry. I think she may have lived in your neighborhood.”

  She smiled, though it looked more like a grimace in her aged face. “You mean Divone. I knew her. She’s a great healer. She liked my Cindy.”

  I was tempted to ask how well Divone knew Cindy and if Maureen knew she had a grandchild, but I’d rather have the midwife’s address, and I didn’t dare risk her breaking down now. “Do you know where she lived?”

  “Down by the bridge. I had an apartment there once.”

  “What bridge?” Shannon asked.

  Maureen blinked at him, as though she’d forgotten he was in the room. “Do I know you?”

  “No.” To his credit, there was no trace of impatience in Shannon’s voice.

  “What were the apartments called?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “You don’t want to live there. They had cockroaches and rats. Lots of skunks around outside. If you asked for something to be fixed, it took forever. I had a leak once, and it took three years before they’d fix it.”

  So at least for three years she—and maybe Cindy—had a roof over her head. “Did the shaman live there?”

  She squinted at me. “Do I know you?”

  “We’re trying to find a missing girl,” I said. “Is there anything else you can tell me about where the shaman lived?”

  Her wrinkled lips pursed. “Baby,” she whispered. A single tear ran down her cheek.

  “Maureen, please focus.” I leaned closer to her. “We need to find the midwife. This is about Cindy’s baby, not yours.”

  She laid her head on her knees and rocked soundlessly, her eyes still open but unfocused.

  “What about Cindy’s boyfriend, the baby’s father?” I asked. “Can you tell us his name?”

  Maureen continued to rock. She was completely gone.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered. Suddenly there was so much I wanted to know about her. Like why she’d chosen to be homeless instead of living with her daughter. Why she’d quit her jobs.

  “Autumn.”

  I turned to see Shannon standing beside a narrow five-drawer dresser. On top was a basket full of mismatched items. Maureen’s treasures. Feeling defeat, I walked over to him and went to work.

  Strangely, these were the most enjoyable prints I’d experienced all day, excepting a few in the
Vandyke house. Everything, from the small stuffed animal to the narrow-necked decorative green bottle, the piece of sea glass to the small Latin prayer book, showed me a life of simple joys. These objects weren’t expensive, but Maureen had loved them with a simple heart of immaturity and single-minded innocence. I knew then that something had broken a long time ago inside Maureen, and the life she’d chosen was the way she dealt with that hurt. Day to day, not worrying about tomorrow, about possessions, and sadly, people. People who could hurt but also those who might have helped her heal.

  I picked up a small, white cardboard box. Inside wrapped in tissue was a silver ring so tiny and thin that it couldn’t have cost much and wasn’t worth hanging onto outside any emotional value. I reached out a finger.

  She’ll wear this ring until it no longer fits, and then Maureen/I will hang it on a chain around her neck. “See this, sweetie?” I showed it to the baby in my arms. I sat in a hospital bed, the baby wrapped in a receiving blanket, arms tight to her side. So tiny I was afraid of hurting her accidentally. “This is yours. I bought it when you were still inside my tummy. We’re going to live in this nice apartment the social worker found. We get to stay there all day together for six weeks. Then I’m going to work, and you will go play with some kids while I’m gone. It’ll be great, except I’ll miss you, and maybe you’ll miss me, though probably not since you’ll be having so much fun. Everyone says the woman is amazing. She watches all the children around here. It’s close to the Hudson—that’s the name of where we’re staying—so I’ll pick you up on the way home.” Fierce love, almost but not quite breaking through that part of me hidden from all the world, cloaked now in innocence.

  There was nothing more, so I let the ring drop. Compassion for Maureen and baby Cindy choked my voice so I couldn’t speak.

  Shannon offered me his watch, but I shook my head. I didn’t want to obliterate the imprint. Someone needed to mourn for Maureen.

  “I hope you found a good lead,” Shannon said, “because there’s nothing else here. No pictures, no journals. Nothing.”

  “When Cindy was born they lived at a place called Hudson. Cindy went to daycare nearby.”

  “That was more than thirty years ago, but I’ll call Tracy and see what she can dig up.” He took out his phone. “Looks like I’ll have to call the precinct instead. Tracy’s texted me and said she’s leaving the office.”

  “Have them look at government-assisted housing.”

  Shannon nodded and called while I went back to the bed with the little white box. I held it in front of Maureen’s eyes for a few seconds before setting it on the bed next to her. “You did right getting that apartment for Cindy,” I said. “And whatever else happened in her life, she grew up and was able to take care of herself. The rest wasn’t your fault. Some people just get sick.” I lowered my voice. “I’m doing everything I can to find Cindy’s baby. If I do, I’ll ask her adoptive parents to bring her here.” I knew I was promising a lot, but with Gail’s dedication to charities and helping others, I couldn’t believe she’d say no. Maureen wouldn’t be around long. Her many years on the street had taken its toll, and more of her was in the next world than in this one.

  There was a movement on the bed as Maureen unclasped her arms long enough to grab the box from the bed and shove it into my hands. “Please find her,” she whispered. “We always knew he shouldn’t have her.”

  So she knew about the baby. “What is his name?” I asked. But she was gone again, eyes staring at something I couldn’t see.

  I had the feeling that sane or insane, Maureen would not have given Jenny’s birth father any information—if she had any to give.

  I set the white box back on the dresser with her other treasures and joined Shannon at the door. The orderly walked us out—after first checking on Maureen.

  By the time we’d sloshed through the snow and were back inside the truck, Shannon had a call from the police station. “Thanks,” he said. “Yes, send it to my phone.” Hanging up, he looked at me. “The Hudson was sort of a halfway house, where those in the apartments paid only part of the rent and utilities until they got back on their feet. The families had to have children or they couldn’t qualify.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  He frowned. “The hitch is that it was demolished ten years ago to make room for new waterfront condos.”

  Another dead end.

  “There have to be some older buildings nearby,” he added. “Looks like we’ll be knocking doors after all.” He started the truck, and I reached for my sandwich.

  Ten minutes later, I was beginning to feel anxious as we neared our destination. If this was another dead end, we would be no closer to finding Jenny’s father, and I wasn’t sure what to try next.

  “We could check the prisons for new releases,” I told Shannon. “See if any inmate was called Geyser.”

  “He could have gotten out months ago. Or years. Maybe he just now ran into someone who knew Cindy and found out she’d been pregnant. Or maybe he found out years ago and only now decided he wanted to meet his daughter.” He sighed. “There are so many variables. Anyway, the FBI is checking on former employees at the sewing factory. Anyone who knew them at the time might have told Geyser about the baby.”

  Finding those people so they could identify Geyser would take time. How many employees had come and gone? How many neighbors and friends? “They might not even realize they told him anything,” I said. “I mean, if it was in casual conversation, and they didn’t know his identity—even Gail, who became her best friend, met him only once. They might not be able to identify him. Our best bet is to find someone who knew them from the past. Someone who knew Cindy when she and Geyser were together.”

  Shannon nodded, his face tight. “We’re almost there.”

  I peered out into the darkness where the businesses were quickly giving way to apartments. The snow was light enough that the flakes reflected the light from the street lamps instead of further obscuring my view.

  “Wait,” I said suddenly. “Pull over.”

  “What is it?”

  I could see the darkness of the river behind the apartments on the edge of the snowy road. I had never physically been on this road in my life, but it was familiar.

  I’d seen it today.

  “I know where to go,” I said. “I just hope our shaman is still there.”

  Chapter 11

  We climbed from the truck, and I led Shannon to an apartment building. Whoever made the talisman the old woman had shown us had once lived here, in one of the apartments—on the right side of the building, because it was closer to the bridge in the distance. The apartment had a balcony out the back so the shaman could gaze onto the Willamette, and it had to be high enough to see the water over the boatyard nestled between the apartments and the water, but probably not as high as the top two floors.

  Craning his neck, Shannon counted the stories, six in all. “So maybe the fourth.”

  “That’s my bet. But maybe the third.”

  “With any luck, there will only be one back apartment on the right.”

  It could still be on the left, of course, depending on the perception of the shaman when she’d imprinted on the talisman.

  I did up the buttons on my coat. “Whether or not she’s still here is the question. It’s been fourteen years. And there’s always the chance there’s another apartment near the river and a bridge that gives almost the same view.”

  The shaman also could have been visiting someone else when she imprinted on the talisman, but I wasn’t going to dwell on that possibility. Instead, I would think about Cindy living in this area with her mother. Safe for at least those three years, or possibly longer.

  I felt a stab of sympathy for the dead woman, but there was nothing I could do for her now except to find Jenny and see her safely back to the people who loved her.

  The old building had a door protecting its lobby, but the lock was broken. Inside, we found peeling paint, twenty-four old metal
mailboxes set into the left wall, and outdated light fixtures. Even the marble stairs showed signs of wear—decades of use had worn off some of the rock. But the small lobby was clean, the lights were working, and several large and well-tended plants sat by the outside doors and to the side of the steps.

  “Looks like the elevator works,” I said.

  We rode directly to the fourth floor, where we found four apartments, two in the front and two facing the river. Shannon motioned to the back apartment on the right side. “Want to do the honors?”

  I pulled off my gloves and held my hand over the bell. Imprints tingled. I let my finger rest on it without pushing.

  Hurry, please open. We needed help. Desperation. With no money or insurance, this was the only place I could think to go. Maybe she would be able to help.

  The imprint came from last week. I let my finger fall before another imprint began and smiled at Shannon. “She’s here. Or was last Wednesday.”

  He rang the bell.

  The woman answered almost immediately, as though she’d been expecting us. She was a tall, hardy woman, with a small, round nose, full lips, a wide face, and brown eyes. She looked regal in a black dress topped by a large, flowing purple and black scarf. Her golden skin was unblemished and had few wrinkles, but her dark hair, swept high on her head, was woven liberally with gray.

  “May I help you?”

  “Are you Divone?”

  She inclined her head. “Yes.”

  “We are looking for the midwife who delivered Cindy Quincy’s baby fourteen years ago,” I said.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  “The baby’s name is Jenny Vandyke, and she went missing two weeks ago. We believe her birth father may be involved.”

  “Ah.” She looked first at me and then at Shannon. “Then you are with the police?”

  “He’s a detective,” I said as Shannon fished out his badge. “I’m a consultant. We know you agreed to change the name on the birth papers fourteen years ago, and we know you did it to protect Jenny. That’s not why we’re here. We want to know anything you can tell us about the birth father.”